Inscription

Small is the theme of the following Chant,

yet the greatest—namely, One's-Self —

that wondrous thing a simple, separate person.

That, for the use of the New World, I sing.

Man's physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing.

Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone,

is worthy for the muse; — I say the Form complete is worthier far.

The female equal with the male, I sing,

Nor cease at the theme of One's-Self.

I speak the word of the modern, the word En-Masse:

My Days I sing, and the Lands —

with interstice I knew of hapless War.

O friend whoe'er you are, at last arriving hither to commence,

I feel through every leaf

the pressure of your hand, which I return.

And thus upon our journey link'd together

let us go.