Whitman knew who he was.
One voice without a second.
He was beyond fear of
contradiction. He knew that his
most outrageous utterances
were no more outrageous
than the rush of a brook or a clap
of thunder. And that no law
kept him from speaking the
truth, which was in immediate
supply forever. And
while others diminished them-
selves, shrinking
from truth till it became a cage
to pray to, Whitman
filled out the full dimension
of his stride, knowing
truth as the swing of his arms
and the taste of supper.
No wonder he could sing.