Here a great personal deed has room,
(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all
    authority and all argument against it.)

Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the
    excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes
    it out of the soul.

Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the
    spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.

Here is realization,
Here is a man tallied—­he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love—­if they are vacant of you, you
    are vacant of them.

Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? 
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?

Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos;
Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers? 
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

     7
Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates,
    ever provoking questions,
These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they?  Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight
    expands my blood? 
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?  Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious
    thoughts descend upon me? 
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always
    drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? 
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side? 
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by
    and pause? 
What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what
    gives them to be free to mine?

8
The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,
Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.

Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of
    man and woman,
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day
    out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet
    continually out of itself.)

Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the
    love of young and old,
From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.