Daily Something #17: A Quote Going Backwards

Quotes are one of those things that sometimes follow the grapevine phenomenon and end up being reworded or taken out of context.  After perusing a large bunch of quotation stationery the other day, I started thinking about what I would discover if I backtracked one of my favorite quotes.  To my surprise, the quote was not exactly what Whitman had said, but regardless, the poem is worth sharing.


Miracles
     Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love,
Or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown,
Or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--
The ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

Library of Congress

I spent about a week this summer touring Washington D.C. and Alexandria, VA and had a blast taking lots and lots of pictures.  I'm finally getting around to sorting through them and will start sharing with you some of my favorites.  These were taken at the Library of Congress, which was one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever stepped foot in.  It is an elaborate treasure chest of mosaics and marble, a distraction from the fact that the most precious contents are out of sight - with the exception of an occasional display of the Gutenberg Bible or other priceless texts.

Sunflower Rising

Sunflowers are the flowers of giants - they demand attention.  I took these photos at a farm the other day.  I was on my way home and was caught by the light and shadows reflected off the bright yellow petals and the dark green leaves.


Ah, Sunflower
by William Blake
(1757-1827)

---

Ah, sunflower, weary of time,
     Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
     Where the traveller's journey is done;
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
     And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
     Where my Sunflower wishes to go! 

May It Be

Where the Sun Rises First