A Celebration to Life

I CELEBRATE myself;
 
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.
   
I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
  
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes—the shelves are crowded with perfumes;
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
  
The atmosphere is not a perfume—it has no taste of the distillation—it is odorless;
It is for my mouth forever—I am in love with it;
I will go to the bank by the wood, and become undisguised and naked;
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

Walt Whitman wikipedia.org Leaves of Grass Bartleby.com

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