Autumn Rivulets, by Walt Whitman

I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman,
Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman,
Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else.

 

Is it wonderful that I should be immortal? as every one is im-
mortal;
I know it is wonderful, but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and
how I was conceived in my mother’s womb is equally
wonderful,
And pass’d from a babe in the creeping trance of a couple of
summers and winters to articulate and walk—all this is
equally wonderful.

 

And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each
other without ever seeing each other, and never perhaps to
see each other, is every bit as wonderful.

 

And that I can think such thoughts as these is just as wonderful,
And that I can remind you, and you think them and know them
to be true, is just as wonderful.

 

And that the moon spins round the earth and on with the earth, is
equally wonderful,
And that they balance themselves with the sun and stars is equally
wonderful.