Morning after a night-rain
The fresh-cool summer-scent
Odors of pine and oak
The shade.

Wandering the negligent paths – the soothing silence,
The stilllness and the veiled
The myriad living columns of the temple
The holy sabbath morning

Incense and songs of birds in deep recesses
But most the delicate smells filling the soul
The sky aloft, seen through the treetops

All the young growth & green maturity of May
While laurel blossoms within reach,
Woodpinks, below-overhead, stately
tulip trees with yellow cup-shaped flowers,

The meoo-w of the cat-bird, cluck of robin,
gurgle of thrush delicious
Over and under these, in the silence, delicate wood odors
Birds flitting through the trees
Tangles of old grape-vines.

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

The past and present wilt—I have fill’d them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.

Who has done his day’s work? who will soonest be through with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?

Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late?