Why, who makes much of a miracle?
\nAs to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
\nWhether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
\nOr dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
\nOr wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of
\n the water,
\nOr stand under trees in the woods,
\nOr talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
\n with any one I love,
\n
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
\nOr look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
\nOr watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer
\n forenoon,
\nOr animals feeding in the fields,
\nOr birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
\nOr the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so
\n quiet and bright,
\nOr the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
\nThese with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
\nThe whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.<\/p>\n
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
\nEvery cubic inch of space is a miracle,
\nEvery square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with
\n the same,
\nEvery foot of the interior swarms with the same.<\/p>\n
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
\nThe fishes that swim\u201d\u201dthe rocks\u201d\u201dthe motion of the waves\u201d\u201d
\n the ships with men in them,
\nWhat stranger miracles are there?<\/p>\n
–Walt Whitman (1819-1892)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked…<\/span><\/p>\n