Inscription. by Walt Whitman
SMALL is the theme of the following Chant, yet the greatestâ€”namely,
Oneâ€™s-Selfâ€”that wondrous thing a simple, separate person. That, for the use of
New World, I sing.
Manâ€™s physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing. Not physiognomy alone, nor brain
alone, is worthy for the muse;â€”I say the Form complete is worthier far. The female
with the male, I sing,
Nor cease at the theme of Oneâ€™s-Self. I speak the word of the modern, the word
My Days I sing, and the Landsâ€”with interstice I knew of hapless War.
O friend whoeâ€™er you are, at last arriving hither to commence, I feel through every
the pressure of your hand, which I return. And thus upon our journey linkâ€™d together