omistan Walt Whitmanin runon "There Was a Child Went Forth", joka on seurannut minua uskollisesti vuosikymmenten ajan, eikä ole koskaan ollut enempää, ei vähempääkään, totta kuin nyt.
Tätä runoa ei ole suomennettu, mutta senkin suomentamisesta haaveilen.
THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH
There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
And the Third-month lambs and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the mare's foal and the cow's calf,
And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there, and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads, all became part of him.
Affection that will not be gainsay'd, the sense of what is real, the thought if after all it should prove unreal,
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time, the curious whether and how,
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets, if they are not flashes and specks what are they?
The streets themselves and the facades of houses, and goods in the windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy plank'd wharves, the huge crossing at the ferries,
The village in the highland seen from afar at sunset, the river between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown two miles off,
These became part of this child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
