"As for me, I know nothing else but miracles.

Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,

Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the skym

Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,

Or stand under the trees in the woods,

Or talk by day with anyone I love,

Or sleep in bed at night with anyone I love,

Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon. . . 

Or the wonderfulness of the sundown,

Or of stars shining so quiet and bright,

Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring. . .

What stranger miracles are there?"

-- Walt Whitman