TO the garden, the world, anew ascending,
Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding,
The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,
Curious, here behold my resurrection, after slumber;
The revolving cycles, in their wide sweep, have brought me again,
Amorous, matureall beautiful to meall wondrous;
My limbs, and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for reasons, most wondrous;
Existing, I peer and penetrate still,
Content with the presentcontent with the past,
By my side, or back of me, Eve following,
Or in front, and I following her just the same.
To the Garden the World.
written byWalt Whitman
© Walt Whitman