The poet declares that all he says of himself the reader is to say of his own self, "else it were time lost listening to me." He declares himself to be "solid and sound," "deathless," and "august," and, while no one is better than he, no one is worse, either. In section 21, Whitman proclaims himself "the poet of the Body" and also "the poet of the Soul." He is a poet of pleasures and pain, and of men and women. Calling to the earth, he thanks it for giving him love, which he answers with love: "Prodigal, you have given me love — therefore I to you give love!/O unspeakable passionate love." In section 22 the poet reveals that he also loves the sea. He feels at one with it ("I am integral with you") for it has as many aspects and moods as he has. He is the poet of both good and evil: "I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also"; the two qualities complement each other. In section 23 the poet affirms his acceptance of "Reality." He salutes scientists but, he admits, "your facts . . . are not my dwelling."
Section 24 presents some of Whitman's basic tenets. He calls himself a "kosmos." The word "kosmos," meaning a universe, is significant and amounts to a renewed definition of the poet's self as one who loves all people. Through him, "many long dumb voices" of prisoners, slaves, thieves, and dwarfs — all of those whom "the others are down upon" — are articulated and transfigured. He also speaks of lust and the flesh, for each part of the body is a miracle: "The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer." In section 25 Whitman dwells on the comprehensive range of the poet's power. He declares that "with the twirl of my tongue I encompass world and volumes of world. Speech is the twin of my vision." He must speak, for he cannot contain all that he has to say; and yet "writing and talk do not prove me." What he is can be seen in his face.
