I must read Whitman again, and Keats again.

I overheard somebody saying the name,

Someone excited thinking about these men,

And suddenly in my mind the question came,

Where do I go? What do I do with days?

I work, I eat, intending not to die.

I walk, I go nowhere by devious ways.

And there on the shelf my Keats and Whitman lie,

Words wild and sweet and swift and harsh and whole,

Young heart half broken, older heart in health,

Power and glory set in the human soul,

The word's color, and care, and the word's wealth-

All I have needed, all that chime and cheer,

Shut and shelved in a book, and the book near.