Walt Whitman - Quicksand Years

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QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither, Your schemes, politics, fail lines give way substances mock and elude me; Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd Soul, eludes not; One's-self must never give way that is the final substance that out of all is sure; Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life what at last finally remains? When shows break up, what but One's-Self is sure? Walt Whitman poemhunter.com/poem/quicksand-years/