the something which obeys none of the rest

“
  How it is I know not--yet behold! the something which obeys none
      of the rest,
  It is offensive, never defensive--yet how magnetic it draws.
  O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted!
  To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand!
  To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face!
  To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with
      perfect nonchalance!
  To be indeed a God!
  O to sail to sea in a ship!
  To leave this steady unendurable land,
  To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the
      houses,
  To leave you O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship,
  To sail and sail and sail!
  O to have life henceforth a poem of new joys!
  To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on!
  To be a sailor of the world bound for all ports,
  A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,)
  A swift and swelling ship full of rich words, full of joys.
BOOK XII
Song of the Broad-Axe
”
—Walt Whitman
Multitudes are Seeded by Leaves of Grass.
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