Song of the Open Road - 2 - Walt Whitman

Listen! I will be honest with you,

I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer

rough new prizes.

These are the days that must happen to you:

You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,

You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you

earn or achieve,

You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d,

you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you

are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,

You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings

of those who remain behind you,

What beckonings of love you receive you shall only

answer with passionate kisses of parting,

You shall not allow the hold of those who spread
their reach’d hands toward you.