Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.

298. In the New Garden in all the Parts

IN the new garden, in all the parts,

In cities now, modern, I wander,

Though the second or third result, or still further, primitive yet,

Days, places, indifferent—though various, the same,

Time, Paradise, the Mannahatta, the prairies, finding me unchanged,

Death indifferent—Is it that I lived long since? Was I buried very long ago?

For all that, I may now be watching you here, this moment;

For the future, with determined will, I seek—the woman of the future,

You, born years, centuries after me, I seek.