O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I
     love you,
You express me better than I can express myself,
You shall be more to me than my poem.

I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all
     free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and
     whoever beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and
     imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,

Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the
     holds that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south
     are mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,
I can repeat over to men and women You have done such
     good to me I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless
     me.

Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not
     amaze me,
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd it
     would not astonish me.

Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the
     earth.

Here a great personal deed has room,
(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks
     all authority and all argument against it.)

Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not
     having it,

Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own
     proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and
     the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that
     provokes it out of the soul.

Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all
     under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and
     flowing currents.

Here is realization,
Here is a man tallied — he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love — if they are vacant of you,
    you are vacant of them.

Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you
     and me?

Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion'd, it is
     apropos;
Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?