THE POET OF THE COSMOS 



Who believes not only in our globe with its sun and moon, but in 

 other globes with their suns and moons. 



Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day 

 but for all time, sees races, eras, dates, generations, 



The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable to- 

 gether." 



Let me say at once that, whatever else "Leaves 

 of Grass" may be, it is not poetry as the world uses 

 that term. It is an inspired utterance, but it does 

 not fall under any of the usual classifications of 

 poetry. Lovers of Whitman no more go to him for 

 poetry than they go to the ocean for the pretty shells 

 and pebbles on the beach. They go to him for con- 

 tact with his spirit; to be braced and refreshed by 

 his attitude toward life and the universe; for his 

 Tobust faith, his world-wide sympathies, for the 

 breadth of his outlook, and the wisdom of his utter- 

 ances. 



Whitman is first and last a seer and a philosopher, 

 but his philosophy is incarnated in a man; it is fluid 

 and alive; it breathes and talks, and loves and 

 breeds; it nurses the sick and wounded soldiers in 

 the hospitals; it makes him the friend and brother 

 of all types of humanity, of the outcast woman not 

 less than of the man or woman of perfect blood: 



" Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you, 



Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you and the leaves to 



rustle for you, do my words refuse to glisten and rustle 



for you. 



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