all the world is my school, and all of humanity is my teacher.

Ah, de vivre une vie bohème.
Je veux aller ici, et vie comme un Tumbleweed.
Mais je pense pas qu'il est le même quand M. Whitman n'est pas là encore.




Among the visions which my fancies trace,
There was one brightest star, one face;
One image from afar,
Filled with surrounding grace.
Each poem was her heart's fantasy,
Each flower and tree is framed within her memory.
Each dream, each midnight and each dawn;
Are garments, thoughts of her put on
Each beam of light from the imperium blue,
With her involves the good, the beautiful and the true.