Whitman, "Song of the Open Road" 13 in "Leaves of grass"

Allons ! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to and the days and the nights they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you,
To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession, but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particule of it,
To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant villa and the chaste blessings of the well-maried couple and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, fo all that you leave them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road, as roads for traveling souls.

All parts away for the progress of souls,
All religion, all solid things, arts governments - all that was solid or is apparent upon this globe or any globe falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along with the grand roads of the universe.

Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other process is the needed emblem and sustenance.

Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go ! they go ! I know that they go, but I know not where they go,
But I know they go toward the best - toward something great.

Whoever you are, come forth ! or man or woman come forth !
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it or though it has been built for you.

Out of the dark confinement ! out from behind the screen !
It is useless to protest. I know all and expose it.

Behold through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and trimm'd faces,
Behold a secret and silent loathing and dispair.

No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the house of men and women, at the table, in the bed room, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast bones, hell under the skull bones,
Under the broadclothes and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of any thing but never of itself.