“To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.”
~Walt Whitman, Miracles
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.”
~Walt Whitman, Miracles
Dr. James Martin Peebles (1822-1922) wrote of his admiration for his contemporary and friend, the influential poet, Walt Whitman (1819-1892) :
“Whitman was literally a giant of soul impulse. There was not a shadow of sham about him. He was innocent of fashion and affectation. ‘I am,’ he said, ‘but an idea–a spirit–a new language for Civilization. What am I but you, and what are you again but this same I, the two halves of a circle in an infinite circle.’”
“Whitman was a child of nature. He loved alike the loneliness of the forest, the surging throngs along Broadway–the shoutings of children by the roadside and the singing of crickets in the gray of evening time. He was equally at home studying a sunset, riding upon the top of an omnibus, among the convicts of a prison, or sitting in a Quaker church. He was an all-around man, shunning the shallows of fashion and daring the roughness of life. His peerless presence was like a dynamo–radiating vigor and health, peace and good will.”
“He wrote of life as he saw it ‘on the road.’ Fame was to him a bubble to be shunned. Thousands admired both his personality and his verse. Some mocked. He heard the taunt–the jeer–the heartless scoff; but not heeding he continued ‘on the road.’ Now better appreciated, he is receiving unstinted praise from this and foreign lands.”
“Whitman was a child of nature. He loved alike the loneliness of the forest, the surging throngs along Broadway–the shoutings of children by the roadside and the singing of crickets in the gray of evening time. He was equally at home studying a sunset, riding upon the top of an omnibus, among the convicts of a prison, or sitting in a Quaker church. He was an all-around man, shunning the shallows of fashion and daring the roughness of life. His peerless presence was like a dynamo–radiating vigor and health, peace and good will.”
“He wrote of life as he saw it ‘on the road.’ Fame was to him a bubble to be shunned. Thousands admired both his personality and his verse. Some mocked. He heard the taunt–the jeer–the heartless scoff; but not heeding he continued ‘on the road.’ Now better appreciated, he is receiving unstinted praise from this and foreign lands.”
~Linda
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