Walt Whitman Poems

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THE prairie-grass dividing—its special odor breathing,
I demand of it the spiritual corresponding,
Demand the most copious and close companionship of men,
Demand the blades to rise of words, acts, beings,
Those of the open atmosphere, coarse, sunlit, fresh, nutritious,
Those that go their own gait, erect, stepping with freedom and command—leading, not
following,
Those with a never-quell’d audacity—those with sweet and lusty flesh, clear of
taint,

Those that look carelessly in the faces of Presidents and Governors, as to say, Who are
you?
Those of earth-born passion, simple, never-constrain’d, never obedient,
Those of inland America.

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