Page:Leaves of Grass (1860).djvu/72

64 I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-
 * work of the stars,

And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of
 * sand, and the egg of the wren,

And the tree-toad is a chef-d'œuvre for the highest, And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors
 * of heaven,

And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all
 * machinery,

And the cow crunching with depressed head surpasses
 * any statue,

And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions
 * of infidels,

And I could come every afternoon of my life to look
 * at the farmer's girl boiling her iron tea-kettle
 * and baking short-cake.

I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss,
 * fruits, grains, esculent roots.

And am stuccoed with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good
 * reasons,

And call anything close again, when I desire it.

In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against
 * my approach,

In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own
 * powdered bones,

In vain objects stand leagues off, and assume manifold
 * shapes,

In vain the ocean settling in hollows, and the great
 * monsters lying low,