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 | Leaves of grass. |  |
QUICKSAND YEARS THAT WHIRL ME
I KNOW NOT WHITHER.
QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know
not whither,
Your schemes, politics, fail — lines give way — substan- ces mock and elude me;
Only the them I sing, the great and strong-possess'd soul, eludes not;
One's-self, must never give way — that is the final sub- stance — that out of all is sure;
Out of politics, triumphs, battles, death — what at last finally remains?
When shows break up, what but One's-Self is sure?
Your schemes, politics, fail — lines give way — substan- ces mock and elude me;
Only the them I sing, the great and strong-possess'd soul, eludes not;
One's-self, must never give way — that is the final sub- stance — that out of all is sure;
Out of politics, triumphs, battles, death — what at last finally remains?
When shows break up, what but One's-Self is sure?
31a
| Leaves of grass. | |