These are really the thoughts of all men in all
ages and lands, they are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much as mine they are
nothing, or next to nothing,
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the
riddle they are nothing,
If they are not just as close as they are distant
they are nothing.
This is the grass that grows wherever the land
is and the water is, This is the common air that
bathes the globe.
Song of Myself (part17)
by Walt Whitman