Poets to come! Orators, singers, musicians to come!Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,but you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known,Arouse! For you must justify me.I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.
I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping
turns a casual look upon you and then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you. [1860]
Walt Whitman, 31 May 1819 - 26. March 1892