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Whitman

Walt Whitman
1819-1892

"Song of Myself – No.51"

 

The past and present wilt – I have filled them, emptied them,
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.
Listener up there! what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a
          minute longer.)
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door
          slab.
Who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through
          with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?
Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too
          late?

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