2
Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens,
Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east—­America is provided for in the west, Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator, Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends,
Within me is the longest day, the sun wheels in slanting rings, it
    does not set for months,
Stretch’d in due time within me the midnight sun just rises above
    the horizon and sinks again,
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, forests, volcanoes, groups, Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands.

3 What do you hear Walt Whitman?

I hear the workman singing and the farmer’s wife singing,
I hear in the distance the sounds of children and of animals early
    in the day,
I hear emulous shouts of Australians pursuing the wild horse,
I hear the Spanish dance with castanets in the chestnut shade, to
    the rebeck and guitar,
I hear continual echoes from the Thames,
I hear fierce French liberty songs,
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old poems,
I hear the locusts in Syria as they strike the grain and grass with
    the showers of their terrible clouds,
I hear the Coptic refrain toward sundown, pensively falling on the
    breast of the black venerable vast mother the Nile,
I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer, and the bells of the mule,
I hear the Arab muezzin calling from the top of the mosque,
I hear the Christian priests at the altars of their churches, I hear
    the responsive base and soprano,
I hear the cry of the Cossack, and the sailor’s voice putting to sea
    at Okotsk,
I hear the wheeze of the slave-coffle as the slaves march on, as the
    husky gangs pass on by twos and threes, fasten’d together
    with wrist-chains and ankle-chains,
I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms,
I hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks, and the strong legends of
    the Romans,
I hear the tale of the divine life and bloody death of the beautiful
    God the Christ,
I hear the Hindoo teaching his favorite pupil the loves, wars,
    adages, transmitted safely to this day from poets who wrote three
    thousand years ago.

     4
What do you see Walt Whitman? 
Who are they you salute, and that one after another salute you?  I see a great round wonder rolling through space, I see diminute farms, hamlets, ruins, graveyards, jails, factories,
    palaces, hovels, huts of barbarians, tents of nomads upon the surface,
I see the shaded part on one side where the sleepers are sleeping,
    and the sunlit part on the other side,
I see the curious rapid change of the light and shade,
I see distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants of them as
    my land is to me.