I Wishing Y'all All A Merry Christmas, As Well As Equally Good A Novel Twelvemonth Sum Of Miracles

I Wishing Y'all All A Merry Christmas, As Well As Equally Good A Novel Twelvemonth Sum Of Miracles

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of aught else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade alongside naked feet along the beach simply inwards the border of the water,
Or stand upwards nether trees inwards the woods,
Or speak yesteryear solar daytime alongside whatever 1 I love, or slumber inwards the bed at black
alongside whatever 1 I love,
Or sit down at tabular array at dinner alongside the rest,
Or expect at strangers contrary me riding inwards the car,
Or lookout adult man honey-bees busy simply about the hive of a summertime forenoon,
Or animals feeding inwards the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects inwards the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining in addition to hence placidity
in addition to bright,
Or the exquisite frail sparse flexure of the novel Luna inwards spring;
These alongside the rest, 1 in addition to all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, all the same each distinct in addition to inwards its place.

To me every lx minutes of the low-cal in addition to black is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of infinite is a miracle,
Every foursquare yard of the surface of the populace is spread alongside the same,
Every pes of the interior swarms alongside the same.
To me the body of body of water is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the
ships alongside men inwards them,
What stranger miracles are there?

-- Walt Whitman
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