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Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.

65. Earth! my Likeness!

EARTH! my likeness!

Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there,

I now suspect that is not all;

I now suspect there is something fierce in you, eligible to burst forth;

For an athlete is enamour’d of me—and I of him;

But toward him there is something fierce and terrible in me, eligible to burst forth,

I dare not tell it in words—not even in these songs.