I am the teacher of athletes,
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves
     the width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the
     teacher.

The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived
     power, but in his own right,
Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,
Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,
Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp
     steel cuts,

First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff,
     to sing a song or play on the banjo,
Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with
     small-pox over all latherers,
And those well-tann'd to those that keep out of the sun.

I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me?
I follow you whoever you are from the present hour,
My words itch at your ears till you understand them.

I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time
     while I wait for a boat,
(It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of
     you,
Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.)

I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a
     house,
And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or
     her who privately stays with me in the open air.

If you would understand me go to the heights or
     water-shore,
The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of
     waves a key,
The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.

No shutter'd room or school can commune with me,
But roughs and little children better than they.

The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well,
The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take
     me with him all day,
The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound
     of my voice,
In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and
     seamen and love them.

The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine,
On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do
     not fail them,

On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know
     me seek me.

My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in
     his blanket,
The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon,
The young mother and old mother comprehend me,
The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget
     where they are,
They and all would resume what I have told them.

I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his
     own funeral drest in his shroud,
And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of
     the earth,
And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod
     confounds the learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man
     following it may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the
     wheel'd universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool
     and composed before a million universes.

And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I who am curious about each am not curious about
     God,
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about
     God and about death.)

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God
     not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than
     myself.