I know I am deathless,
I know the orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's
      compass,
I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a
      burnt stick at night.

I know I am august,
I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,
I see that the elementary laws never apologize,
I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my
      house by after all.

I exist I as am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.

One world is aware, and by far the largest to me, and that is 
      myself,
And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or
      ten millions years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I
      can wait.

My foothold is tenoned and mortised in granite,
I laugh at what you call dissolution,
And I know the amplitude of time.

I am the poet of the body,
And I and the poet of the soul.

- Walt Whitman, Leaves of grass