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Explanation separates us from astonishment, which is the only gateway to the incomprehensible.

Eugene Ionesco in Decouvertes (1969)
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tried To Be True

From baby to best with no second test
These little storms destroy you
Here is the fame they promised to give you
Taking the place of my hand now
Well did you try to be true
What separates me from you now
What separates me from you
Did you borrow the soul
The soul that you sell now
What does your conscience tell you
Where are the demons
Of your desires
Why does my love destroy you
I said I tried to be true
What separates me from you now
(what separates me from you now)
I said I tried, tried to be true
What separates me from you now
(what separates me from you now)
What separates me from you
(what separates me from you now)
I think its you now
Tell me where is the fame
Where is the fortune
Where is the world that denies you
Who is to blame
When my heart finally forfeits
To a road that will only misguide you
Well did we try to be true
What separates me from you now
(what separates me from you now)
Oh did we try, try to be true
(what separates me from you now)
(what separates me from you now)
It separates me from you now
(what separates me from you now)
It separates me from you
(what separates me from you now)
Its you
Baby
Yeah I bought my love a hunger
(I tried, tried to be true)
More precious than a stone
(I tried, tried to be true)
(where is the world that denies you)
All these fatal flowers
(I tried, tried to be true)
(where is the world that denies you)
Did I misguide you?
(tried to be true)

song performed by Indigo Girls
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lady Of La Garaye - Part IV

SILENT old gateway! whose two columns stand
Like simple monuments on either hand;
No trellised iron-work, with pleasant view
Of trim-set flowery gardens shining through;
No bolts to bar unasked intruders out;
No well-oiled hinge whose sound, like one low note
Of music, tells the listening hearts that yearn,
Expectant of dear footsteps, where to turn;
No ponderous bell whose loud vociferous tone
Into the rose-decked lodge hath echoing gone,
Bringing the porter forth with brief delay,
To spread those iron wings that check the way;
Nothing but ivy-leaves, and crumbling stone;
Silent old gateway,--even thy life is gone!

But ere those columns, lost in ivvied shade,
Black on the midnight sky their forms portrayed;
And ere thy gate, by damp weeds overtopped,
Swayed from its rusty fastenings and then dropped,--
When it stood portal to a living home,
And saw the living faces go and come,
What various minds, and in what various moods,
Crossed the fair paths of these sweet solitudes!

Old gateway, thou hast witnessed times of mirth,
When light the hunter's gallop beat the earth;
When thy quick wakened echo could but know
Laughter and happy voices, and the flow
Of jocund spirits, when the pleasant sight
Of broidered dresses (careless youth's delight,)
Trooped by at sunny morn, and back at falling night.

And thou hast witnessed triumph,--when the Bride
Passed through,--the stately Bridegroom at her side;
The village maidens scattering many a flower,
Bright as the bloom of living beauty's dower,
With cheers and shouts that bid the soft tears rise
Of joy exultant, in her downcast eyes.
And thou hadst gloom, when,--fallen from beauty's state,--
Her mournful litter rustled through the gate,
And the wind waved its branches as she past,--
And the dishevelled curls around her cast,
Rose on that breeze and kissed, before they fell,
The iron scroll-work with a wild farewell!

And thou hast heard sad dirges chanted low,
And sobbings loud from those who saw with woe
The feet borne forward by a funeral train,
Which homeward never might return again,
Nor in the silence of the frozen nights

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Dancehall

You could lose your mind
easier than you would like to think
your best friend could up and leave you
playing tricks and cold deceive you
standing there people stare
let down by your own mind
Day of appreciation
for ways your mind has not yet let you down
the truth is that we will all go
maybe five minutes after the show
you know you are a shooting star
a blazing flash then gone
Are we advancing
or a collapsing visionary
are we really here
are we imaginary
as my thoughts separates
into the many frayed parts
torn shattered bits
my mind falling apart
Are we advancing
or a collapsing visionary
are we really here
are we imaginary
as my thoughts separates
into the many frayed parts
torn shattered bits
my mind falling apart
What if there was such a thing
what if theres such a thing as dependence day
there's no self congratulation
just a day of appreciation
quietly humbly
for things that have not gone wrong
Imagine the frustration
of losing bearing of the simplest thing
so come with your best
and do your worst before
you cant remember what you came for
Are we advancing
or a collapsing visionary
are we really here
are we imaginary
as my thoughts separates
into the many frayed parts
torn shattered bits
my mind falling apart
Blazing out the mains
hungry flames consume all that I see
Are we advancing

[...] Read more

song performed by 311
Added by Lucian Velea
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Book the Second

Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring.
The Lark sitting upon his earthly bed, just as the morn
Apears, listens silent; then springing from the waving Corn-field loud
He leads the Choir of Day! trill, thrill, thrill, trill,
Mounting upon the wings of light into the great Expanse,
Reechoing against the lovely blue & shining heavenly Shell.
His little throat labours with inspiration; every feather
On throat & breast & wings vibrates with the effluence Divine.
All Nature listens silent to him, & the awful Sun
Stands still upon the Mountain looking on this little Bird
With eyes of soft humility & wonder, love & awe.
Then loud from their green covert all the Birds begin their Song:
The Thrush, the Linnet & the Goldfinch, Robin & the Wren
Awake the Sun from his sweet reverie upon the Mountain;
The Nightingale again assays his song, & thro’ the day
And thro’ the night warbles luxuriant, every Bird of Song
Attending his loud harmony with admiration & love.
This is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.

Thou perceivest the Flowers put forth their precious Odours,
And none can tell how form so small a center comes such sweets,
Forgetting that within that Center Eternity expends
Its ever during doors that Og & Anak fiercely guard.
First, e’er the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery bosoms,
Joy even to tears, which the
Sun rising dries; first the Wild Thyme
And Meadow-sweet, downy & soft, waving among the reeds,
Light springing on the air, lead the sweet Dance: they wake
The Honeysuckle sleeping on the Oak; the flaunting beauty
Revels along upon the wind; the White-thorn, lovely May,
Opens her many lovely eyes; listening the Rose still sleeps –
None dare to wake her; soon she bursts her crimson curtain’d bed
And comes forth in the majesty of beauty; every Flower,
The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation,
The Jonquil, the mild Lilly opes her heavens; every Tree
And Flower & Herb soon fill the air with an innumberable Dance,
Yet all in order sweet & lovely. Men are sick with Love.
Such is a Vision of the Lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.
And Milton oft sat upon the Couch of Death, & oft conversed
In vision & dream beatific with the Seven Angels of the Presence:
‘I have turned my back upon these Heavens builded on cruelty.
My Spectre still wandering thro’ them follows my Emanation;
He hunts her footsteps thro’ the snow & the wintry hail & rain.
The idiot Reasoner laughs at the Man of Imagination,
And from laughter proceeds o murder by undervaluing calumny.’
Then Hillel, who is Lucifer, replied over the Couch of Death,
And thus the Seven angels instructed him, & thus they converse:
‘We are not Individuals but States, Combinations of Individuals.
We were Angels of the Divine Presence, & were Druids in Annandale,
Compell’d to combine into Form by Satan, the Spectre of Albion,

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake from Milton (1810)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Legend Of St. Sophia Of Kioff

I.

[The Poet describes the city and spelling of Kiow, Kioff, or Kiova.]

A thousand years ago, or more,
A city filled with burghers stout,
And girt with ramparts round about,
Stood on the rocky Dnieper shore.
In armor bright, by day and night,
The sentries they paced to and fro.
Well guarded and walled was this town, and called
By different names, I'd have you to know;
For if you looks in the g'ography books,
In those dictionaries the name it varies,
And they write it off Kieff or Kioff, Kiova or Kiow.

II.

[Its buildings, public works, and ordinances, religious and civil.]

Thus guarded without by wall and redoubt,
Kiova within was a place of renown,
With more advantages than in those dark ages
Were commonly known to belong to a town.
There were places and squares, and each year four fairs,
And regular aldermen and regular lord-mayors;
And streets, and alleys, and a bishop's palace;
And a church with clocks for the orthodox—
With clocks and with spires, as religion desires;
And beadles to whip the bad little boys
Over their poor little corduroys,
In service-time, when they DIDN'T make a noise;
And a chapter and dean, and a cathedral-green
With ancient trees, underneath whose shades
Wandered nice young nursery-maids.

[The poet shows how a certain priest dwelt at Kioff, a godly
clergyman, and one that preached rare good sermons.]

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-ding-a-ring-ding,
The bells they made a merry merry ring,
From the tall tall steeple; and all the people
(Except the Jews) came and filled the pews—
Poles, Russians and Germans,
To hear the sermons
Which HYACINTH preached godly to those Germans and Poles,
For the safety of their souls.

[...] Read more

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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G a t e w a y T i m e o u t

O radiant Muse of Poetry!
To Thee I.....

(sorry, gateway timeout...)

O Thou Unreachable Server of the Universe,
Uncontactable Administrator of our lives,
Gateway to our destiny on Earth
from our log-in to our timeout,
hear, we beseech....

(sorry, gateway timeout...)

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Hold On

I hear the phone, it rings so violently
Cant leave my room, cant breathe since she left me
I will admit, I hate those things I said
Girls always cry, guys will never admit they did
Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Dont tell me that its over
Im not used to this temptation
And when you come back running
Theres no use for explanation
I think things are too hard for
Even with my expert knowledge
Most girls get them in trouble
Because they are rarely honest
Whats with the jokes, all the routines they play
Screw with my head, now I cave in till they their way
Guys like to run, chicks like to yell, you see
Guys hate to fight, girls think its therapy
Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Dont tell me that its over
Im not used to this temptation
And when you come back running
Theres no use for explanation
I think things are too hard for
Even with my expert knowledge
Most girls get them in trouble
Because they are rarely honest
Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Dont tell me that its over
Im not used to this temptation
And when you come back running
Theres no use for explanation
I think things are too hard for
Even with my expert knowledge
Most girls get them in trouble
Because they are rarely honest
Dont tell me that its over
Im not used to this temptation
And when you come back running
Theres no use for explanation
I think things are too hard for
Even with my expert knowledge
Most girls get them in trouble
Because they are rarely honest
Dont tell me that its over
Im not used to this temptation

song performed by Blink 182
Added by Lucian Velea
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Go For The Throat (Use Your Own Imagination)

Words and music by rick nielsen
Dont call me baby
Dont call me your inspiration
Dont call me jealous
I dont need you
Dont try to use me
You can use your own imagination
Just a little bit of information before I leave you
You gotta go for the throat (you can use your own imagination)
You gotta do it alone (just a little bit of information)
I am what I am (you can use your own imagination)
When I go for the throat
Dont try to please me
You just give me idle conversation
Doesnt give me any indication or reason
Dont try to use me
You can use your own imagination
Must be some sort of explanation or reason
And I go for the throat (you just give me idle conversation)
And I do it alone (you can use your own imagination)
And I am what I am (must be some sort of explanation)
When I go for the throat
If I say it again would you listen to me
If I shout it this time
If I say it again would you listen to me
If I shout it this time
Get a grip on yourself try to do it in time
Gotta say to yourself
If I say it again would you listen to me
If I shout it this time
I cant stand it no more (you can use your own imagination)
I go for the throat (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)
I am what I am (you can use your own imagination)
cause I go for the throat (must be some sort of explanation)
I cant stand it no more (you can use your own imagination)
I am what I am (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)
cause I go for the throat (must be some sort of explanation)
I am what I am (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)

song performed by Cheap Trick
Added by Lucian Velea
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Go For The Throat

Words and music by rick nielsen
Don't call me baby
Don't call me your inspiration
Don't call me jealous
I don't need you
Don't try to use me
You can use your own imagination
Just a little bit of information before i leave you
You gotta go for the throat (you can use your own imagination)
You gotta do it alone (just a little bit of information)
I am what i am (you can use your own imagination)
When i go for the throat
Don't try to please me
You just give me idle conversation
Doesn't give me any indication or reason
Don't try to use me
You can use your own imagination
Must be some sort of explanation or reason
And i go for the throat (you just give me idle conversation)
And i do it alone (you can use your own imagination)
And i am what i am (must be some sort of explanation)
When i go for the throat
If i say it again would you listen to me
If i shout it this time
If i say it again would you listen to me
If i shout it this time
Get a grip on yourself try to do it in time
Gotta say to yourself
If i say it again would you listen to me
If i shout it this time
I can't stand it no more (you can use your own imagination)
I go for the throat (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)
I am what i am (you can use your own imagination)
'cause i go for the throat (must be some sort of explanation)
I can't stand it no more (you can use your own imagination)
I am what i am (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)
'cause i go for the throat (must be some sort of explanation)
I am what i am (just a little bit of information)
I do it alone (you just give me idle conversation)

song performed by Cheap Trick
Added by Lucian Velea
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This Island Life

This teas too strong for me
As I await your company
I had too much sun today
Ocean waters wash away
Nothing but the present
Presenting its presence
This island life
Separate my right from my wrong
No I am not pagan
But my heart has been forsaken
And the hand of God was on my mind
It took some time from time to time
Now in the course I know
Time itself will go when
This island life
Separates my right from my wrong
You forgot your shoes and i
I have sent a message but i
Theres so many stars in the sky
Its the truths that will not lie
Theres a you wild native maiden
Running mad and barefoot to the sea until
This island life
Separates my rights from my wrongs
This island life
Finally separates my right from my wrong
This teas too strong for me
As I await more company
I had too much sun today
Dram of lands lying far away
Pregnant with the present
Presenting its presents
This island life
Separate my right from my wrong
This island life
Will separate my rights from my songs
Separate my right from my wrong
Gordon gano: vocal, guitar, violin
Brian ritchie: upright bass, electric sitar
Guy hoffman: drums, percussion
Luisa mann: vocal
Recorded and mixed by david vartanian at dvs perversion room, milwuakee, wi
gorno music reprinted with permission

song performed by Violent Femmes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet- Separation

When you are born, you separate from womb;
Separate from world to get to the tomb!
Some separations come on at each stage;
Quite natural ’tis and that’s the great message.

From married daughter, you must separate;
If your son leaves too, never mind the date;
If leader dies, can you then reinstate?
Separations come to all and that’s fate!

The flower separates from parent plant;
Your prayer too separates when you chant;
Soul separates from its earthly body,
In order to attain Eternity.

So, Separations are a phase of life,
Just as you divorce from your ‘belov’d wife’!

poem by John Celes
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Spectacular Failure

Ran into the office this morning to confess
the French mess to Hanlie, my Stoic Spartan
colleague, as I started to tell her of the chaos
in class – my passionate explanation why
Dominique Strauss-Kahn thought Tristane
Banon came to him with a mysterious plan

Given the title of her book “Male Mistakes”*
immediately suggesting he should illustrate
what it meant, given his fling with Tristane’s
mother, Anne Mansouret, he did not know
Tristane was never told, he thought Tristane
wanted to see his Cro-Magnon approach -

Marine confused; sweet Rima scared; Marius
angered by Strauss-Kahn’s lack of respect for
women and ethics, disorder obscuring the
brilliant explanation of incomprehensible
events, Hanlie laughed with me about my
spectacular failure to communicate….

Anne Mansouret never told her daughter,
Tristane Banon, that she had a wild fling
with Dominique Strauss-Khan; so when
her daughter approached Khan with a
suggestive title for a book, he thought
she wanted to taste the same forbidden
fruit, totally unaware she never knew
about the wild side of life…

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Constable M‘Carty’s Investigations

Most unpleasantly adjacent to the haunts of lower orders
Stood a ‘terrace’ in the city when the current year began,
And a notice indicated there were vacancies for boarders
In the middle house, and lodgings for a single gentleman.
Now, a singular observer could have seen but few attractions
Whether in the house, or ‘missus’, or the notice, or the street,
But at last there came a lodger whose appearances and actions
Puzzled Constable M‘Carty, the policeman on the beat.

He (the single gent) was wasted almost to emaciation,
And his features were the palest that M‘Carty ever saw,
And these indications, pointing to a past of dissipation,
Greatly strengthened the suspicions of the agent of the law.
He (the lodger—hang the pronoun!) seemed to like the stormy weather,
When the elements in battle kept it up a little late;
Yet he’d wander in the moonlight when the stars were close together,
Taking ghostly consolation in a visionary state.

He would walk the streets at midnight, when the storm-king raised his banner,
Walk without his old umbrella,—wave his arms above his head:
Or he’d fold them tight, and mutter, in a wild, disjointed manner,
While the town was wrapped in slumber and he should have been in bed.
Said the constable-on-duty: ‘Shure, Oi wonther phwat his trade is?’
And the constable would watch him from the shadow of a wall,
But he never picked a pocket, and he ne’er accosted ladies,
And the constable was puzzled what to make of him at all.

Now, M‘Carty had arrested more than one notorious dodger,
He had heard of men afflicted with the strangest kind of fads,
But he couldn’t fix the station or the business of the lodger,
Who at times would chum with cadgers, and at other times with cads.
And the constable would often stand and wonder how the gory
Sheol the stranger got his living, for he loafed the time away
And he often sought a hillock when the sun went down in glory,
Just as if he was a mourner at the burial of the day.

Mac. had noticed that the lodger did a mighty lot of smoking,
And could ‘stow away a long ’un,’ never winking, so he could ;
And M‘Carty once, at midnight, came upon the lodger poking
Round about suspicious alleys where the common houses stood.
Yet the constable had seen him in a class above suspicion—
Seen him welcomed with effusion by a dozen ‘toney gents’—
Seen him driving in the buggy of a rising politician
Thro’ the gateway of the member’s toney private residence.

And the constable, off duty, had observed the lodger slipping
Down a lane to where the river opened on the ocean wide,
Where he’d stand for hours gazing at the distant anchor’d shipping,
But he never took his coat off, so it wasn’t suicide.
For the constable had noticed that a man who’s filled with loathing

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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And never - not in a single case - was the explanation, 'I was pressured to do this.' The explanation was very often, 'The limited data we had led one to reasonably conclude this. I now see that there's another explanation for it.'

quote by David Kay
Added by Lucian Velea
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Change

Once there was a man of power
Had no care for human life
Then one day he saw his living lie
Growing all around him
The wheel of change had taken over
Found a love he never knew
Now he teaches children what is true
Gather all around him
What made him choose to turn away
What makes us change our mind
The will to see turns you around
There is no explanation why
There is no rhyme or reason
Just feel the love and youre alive
Running around in your confusion
From the cradle to the grave
Aint got time to see the world go by
Where are you going
Always moving round in circles
Talking words that never end
Standing in the grip of madness
Why oh why
What are you saying
How can we choose to run away
How do we change our mind
See the perception turn around
There is no explanation why
There is no rhyme or reason
Just feel the love and youre alive
Realise this understanding
Move before it gets too late
Take this chance
Or life will pass you by
This is the only way
We must pull ourselves together
Theres so much we must explain
Got to teach the children what is true
There is no other way
Why did we choose to turn away
Why did we change our mind
The will to see turns you around
There is no explanation why
There is no rhyme or reason
Just feel the love and youre alive
The incredible gift of life
Where the fire within burns bright
Every moment we live is true
And the spirit is all in you

song performed by Uriah Heep
Added by Lucian Velea
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Finding Oneself......... [EXTREMELY LONG; Growing Up; Relationships; Humor

Part One

When Bri was 13 and in grade 8,
he noticed classmates beginning to date.
At school (other) boys got their way with the girls with a kiss.
But Bri didn't have the urge; he thought 'what's this? '
He decided he should give it a try,
but each time he tried, the girl would cry.
Not only would she cry; she would run away and hide.
Bri felt between himself and the other boys a great divide.

Back home after school he'd seclude himself in his room and cry.
Through his mind was repeated the question 'why? ' 'Why DO they cry? Why? '

Bri was a straight A+ student with no flubs.
He played football but (except for 'Cooking') he joined not clubs.

After a few months Bri gave up (on girls) . He had NO close friends to set him right;
his parents should have known the problem, but they weren't bright.

In high school he took AP courses, and took 3 courses at a nearby college.
He ignored girls and sports and concentrated on gaining knowledge.

He got a full scholarship to Harvard, but his advisor looked at him funny.
By age 26 he had his PhD in psychology and started making money.
But he still asked 'why? '
It still bothered him and at times he'd cry.

Then waking up one day from a dream, Bri suddenly asked himself 'were they shy?
And if so, why with ME and not the other boys? Why DID they cry? '
The answer could be that his brain and looks were superior.
Were those girls only uncomfortable with boys that were inferior (to him) ?
If that really was the answer, he could now save face,
and could pursue women with HIS high level of brains, looks, and grace.
(But WAS it the answer? He was still not SURE why they did cry.)
For now he would work hard, avoid girls, and try to keep his eyes dry.
In two more years would be a second high school reunion. Thoughts of attending gave Bri a fright. (He'd skipped the first,5 year, reunion.)
But by going this time he might find out if his answer to his 'why? ' was right.

PART TWO

For two more years he waited anxiously for invitation he was dreading.
At times he'd awaken at night from a 'reunion dream', profusely sweating.
Finally it arrived in mail; it would be in June, before it got TOO warm.
He kept his calendar free for the whole month, doubting, at work, he could perform.
He got out the yearbooks his Mom had bought, and he studied each girl's name.
Would he have the nerve to ask them 'why? ' ….OR would he be too scared and lame?

He lived on sedatives for a week. He picked his favorite tie, and a light grey business suit.
Would he find out if the girls had just been shy, or would they give him 'the boot'?

[...] Read more

poem by Bri Edwards
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Father

as father begs, the son in a compromise
goes with him in that dome
where there are candles
some have already burned themselves
and some have just been lighted
by the hand of the caretaker.

there had been so many misunderstandings
unresolved anger
the son keeps the hate as the father keeps
the silence
there is no available explanation
there is simply none to mention
for the moment

the father looks behind and tells the son
i am of the past
my candle melted to the ground
there is no rekindling

the father points to him another candle
about to end its life
and he tells the son, that is yours

the father is talking about a life of the past
and the shrinking future
the son now must explain too
how hate kept him
there is no explanation
there is simply nothing to mention

the candles melt to the ground
offering a smoke as left-over of its short existence
that is the only possible explanation

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It is incomprehensible that God should exist, and it is incomprehensible that he should not exist.

quote by Blaise Pascal
Added by Lucian Velea
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Forever Christmas Eve

Its something so magical, incomprehensible
Yet its so sensible, this you and me
The snow on the street outside that catches the blue moonlight
Why cant it always be
Forever christmas eve
Sparks from a midnight flame, the giggle of french champagne
A kiss sends about half way to fantasy
Wait mister brand new year, why cant we stay right here
Oh, how I wish it could be
Forever christmas eve
A distant bell is ringing out across the winter land
Its singing out a song of things to come
And though this kind of holiday is not what we had planned
Its wonderful tonight
Its something so magical, incomprehensible
Yet its so sensible, this you and me
The snow on the street outside that catches the blue moonlight
Why cant it always be
Forever christmas eve
Sparks from a midnight flame, the giggle of french champagne
A kiss sends about half way to fantasy
Wait mister brand new year, why cant we stay right here
Oh, how I wish it could be
Forever christmas eve
Wait mister brand new year, spare us a little cheer
Why cant it always be
Forever christmas eve
Forever christmas eve

song performed by Lee Ann Womack
Added by Lucian Velea
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Song Of The Open Road

AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune--I myself am good fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Strong and content, I travel the open road.

The earth--that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them. 10

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens;
I carry them, men and women--I carry them with me wherever I go;
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them;
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

You road I enter upon and look around! I believe you are not all that
is here;
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, neither preference or denial;
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the
illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the
drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping
couple, 20
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the
town, the return back from the town,
They pass--I also pass--anything passes--none can be interdicted;
None but are accepted--none but are dear to me.

You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings, and give them
shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I think you are latent with unseen existences--you are so dear to me.

You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides!
you distant ships! 30
You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!

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poem by Walt Whitman
Added by Poetry Lover
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