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Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892

"Complete Prose Works Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy"

For though perhaps the main points of all ages and nations
are points of resemblance, and, even while granting evolution, are
substantially the same, there are some vital things in which this
Republic, as to its individualities, and as a compacted Nation, is to
specially stand forth, and culminate modern humanity. And these
are the very things it least morally and mentally knows--(though,
curiously enough, it is at the same time faithfully acting upon them.)
I count with such absolute certainty on the great future of the United
States--different from, though founded on, the past--that I have
always invoked that future, and surrounded myself with it, before or
while singing my songs. (As ever, all tends to followings--America,
too, is a prophecy. What, even of the best and most successful, would
be justified by itself alone? by the present, or the material ostent
alone? Of men or States, few realize how much they live in the future.
That, rising like pinnacles, gives its main significance to all You
and I are doing to-day. Without it, there were little meaning in lands
or poems--little purport in human lives. All ages, all Nations and
States, have been such prophecies. But where any former ones with
prophecy so broad, so clear, as our times, our lands--as those of the
West?)
Without being a scientist, I have thoroughly adopted the conclusions
of the great savants and experimentalists of our time, and of the last
hundred years, and they have interiorly tinged the chyle of all my
verse, for purposes beyond.


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