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From " A Passage To India" Walt Whitman

(... the impossible genius of one of the greatest modern poets!)

O, vast Rondure, swimming in space!  
Cover’d all over with visible power and beauty!  
Alternate light and day, and the teeming, spiritual darkness;  
Unspeakable, high processions of sun and moon, and countless stars, above;   
Below, the manifold grass and waters, animals, mountains, trees;  
With inscrutable purpose—some hidden, prophetic intention;  
Now, first, it seems, my thought begins to span thee.  
  
Down from the gardens of Asia, descending, radiating,  
Adam and Eve appear, then their myriad progeny after them, 
Wandering, yearning, curious—with restless explorations,  
With questionings, baffled, formless, feverish—with never-happy hearts,  
With that sad, incessant refrain, Wherefore, unsatisfied Soul? and Whither, O mocking Life?  
  
Ah, who shall soothe these feverish children?  
Who justify these restless explorations?   
Who speak the secret of impassive Earth?  
Who bind it to us? What is this separate Nature, so unnatural?  
What is this Earth, to our affections? (unloving earth, without a throb to answer ours;  
Cold earth, the place of graves.)


Indeed, "Cold earth, the place of graves" if we do not act in time!