Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman
You air that serves me with breath to speak
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me.
You flagged walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You rows of houses! you window-pierced façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
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