Song of the Universal – Walt Whitman

Song of the Universal

Come said the Muse,
Sing me a song no poet has chanted,
Sing me the universal.

In this broad earth of ours,
Amid the measureless grossness​ and the slag,
Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.

By every life a share or more or less,
None born but it is born, conceal’d or unconceal’d the seed is waiting.
– Walt Whitman
(Book XVII Birds of Passage) from Leaves of Grass