by Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)

Quicksand years 
Language: English 
Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither,
Your schemes, politics, fail -- lines give way -- substances mock and elude me;
Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd Soul, eludes not;
One's-self must never give way -- that is the final substance -- 
  that out of all is sure;
Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life -- what at last finally remains?
When shows break up, what but One's-Self is sure?

Confirmed with Whitman, Walt. Leaves of Grass. Philadelphia: David McKay, [c1900]; Bartleby.com, 1999. http://www.bartleby.com/142/204.html


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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]