I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!) . . .
Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself. . . .
This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look’d at the crowed heaven,
And I said to my spirit, When we become the enfolders of these orbs, and the pleasure
and knowledge of everything in them, shall we be fill’d and satisfied then?
And my spirit said, No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond.
— Walt Whitman