Walt Whitman

                            In the far South the sun of autumn is passing
                            Like Walt Whitman walking along a ruddy shore.
                            He is singing and chanting the things that are part of him,
                            The worlds that were and will be, death and day.
                            Nothing is final, he chants. No man shall see the end.
                            His beard is of fire and his staff is a leaping flame.

                                                                    ~ Wallace Stevens