Inscription

Walt Whitman

   SMALL is the theme of the following Chant, yet the greatest--namely,
         One's-Self--that wondrous thing a simple, separate person.
         That, for the use of the New World, I sing.
   Man's physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing. Not physiognomy
         alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse;--I say the Form
         complete is worthier far. The female equal with the male, I
         sing,
   Nor cease at the theme of One's-Self. I speak the word of the modern,
         the word En-Masse:
   My Days I sing, and the Lands--with interstice I knew of hapless War.

   O friend whoe'er you are, at last arriving hither to commence, I feel
         through every leaf the pressure of your hand, which I return.
         And thus upon our journey link'd together let us go.

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