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by Walt Whitman

AS they draw to a close,
Of what underlies the precedent songs--of my aims in them;
Of the seed I have sought to plant in them;
Of joy, sweet joy, through many a year, in them;
(For them--for them have I lived--In them my work is done;)
Of many an aspiration fond--of many a dream and plan,
Of you, O mystery great!--to place on record faith in you, O death!
--To compact you, ye parted, diverse lives!
To put rapport the mountains, and rocks, and streams,
And the winds of the north, and the forests of oak and pine, 10
With you, O soul of man.