I am reading from the Leaves of Grass this morning. And I cannot make up my mind whether this is profound, or nonsense. Or something else.
For Him I Sing
For Him I Sing,
I raise the present on the past,
(as some perennial tree out of its roots
the present on the past,)
with time and space I him dilate and
fuse the immortal laws,
To make himself by them the law unto
This has to be read as King James scripture, in the rhythms of that time.
Whitman came along a hundred years later – and no doubt intended his poetry to last as long – if not longer.
His monumental ego comes through clearly.