"Of all mankind the great poet is the equable man.... In war he is the most deadly force of the war.... If the time becomes slothful and heavy he knows how to arouse it... he can make every word he speaks draw blood.... He is no arguer... he is judgment. He judges not as the judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing.... He sees eternity less like a play with a prologue and denouement.... He is not one of the chorus.... He is most wonderful in his last half-hidden smile or frown... by that flash of the moment of parting the one that sees it shall be encouraged or terrified afterward for many years.... The old red blood and stainless gentility of great poets will be proved by their unconstraint.... What do you think is the grandeur of storms and dismemberments and the deadliest battles and wrecks and the wildest fury of the elements and the power of the sea and the motion of nature and of the throes of human desires and dignity and hate and love? It is that something in the soul which says, Rage on, Whirl on, I tread master here and everywhere, Master of the spasms of the sky and of the shatter of the sea, Master of nature and passion and death, And of all terror and pain."

-- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

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