The opening of Song of Myself

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good
Belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at ease
Observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood,
Form'd from this soil, this air,

Born here of parents born here
From parents the same,
And their parents the same

I, now thirty-seven years old
In perfect health begin,
Hoping not to cease till death.

Walt Whitman