By Walt Whitman (1819–1892).
| WE two—how long we were fool’d! | |
| Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Nature escapes; | |
| We are Nature—long have we been absent, but now we return; | |
| We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark; | |
| We are bedded in the ground—we are rocks; | 5 |
| We are oaks—we grow in the openings side by side; | |
| We browse—we are two among the wild herds, spontaneous as any; | |
| We are two fishes swimming in the sea together; | |
| We are what the locust blossoms are—we drop scent around the lanes, mornings and evenings; | |
| We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, minerals; | 10 |
| We are two predatory hawks—we soar above, and look down; | |
| We are two resplendent suns—we it is who balance ourselves, orbic and stellar—we are as two comets; | |
| We prowl fang’d and four-footed in the woods—we spring on prey; | |
| We are two clouds, forenoons and afternoons, driving overhead; | |
| We are seas mingling—we are two of those cheerful waves, rolling over each other, and interwetting each other; | 15 |
| We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious, impervious: | |
| We are snow, rain, cold, darkness—we are each product and influence of the globe; | |
| We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again—we two have; | |
| We have voided all but freedom, and all but our own joy. |
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