In the collection of Whitman's work, eventually titled "Leaves of Grass," every image, every experience, every "atom of my blood," is a celebration, not only of Whitman but also of the reader -- "For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you." As Whitman gathers his life anecdote by anecdote, every contact with other humans ("the country boy at the close of the day driving the herd of cows"), every moment of repose with Nature ("I looked up in perfect silence at the stars"), in every appreciation of civilization's progress (from farm animals to "streets, piers, shipping, store-houses"), "I am mad for it to be in contact with me." He "celebrates" his very existence, his own facticity, as he "contributes a verse" by inviting his soul to observe the world with him. Whitman is celebrating the immediacy of his physical presence, "signing for body and soul" when he puts his signature to his work.
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