Sing me a song no poet has chanted.
Sing me the universal.
In this broad earth of ours.
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
...Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.
By every life a share or more or less
None born but is is born --- concealed
or unconcealed, the seed is waiting.
"Song of the Universal" Walt Whitman