Winter Poem

Songs of Myself
             by Walt Whitman

first two paragraphs of “3”

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end,
but I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.