In honor of the bicentennial of Walt Whitman’s birth!
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and I know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), excerpt from “Song of Myself”