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Knowledge becomes him—he likes it always—he
brings everything to the test of himself,
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail,
he strikes soundings at last only here,
Where else does he strike soundings, except here?
 
16.The man's body is sacred, and the woman's body is
sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred;
Is it a slave? Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants
just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the
well-off—just as much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.

17.All is a procession,
The universe is a procession, with measured and
beautiful motion.

18.Do you know so much yourself, that you call the slave
or the dull-face ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and
he or she has no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its
diffused float—and the soil is on the surface,
and water runs, and vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?

19.A man's body at auction!
I help the auctioneer—the sloven does not half know
his business.

20.Gentlemen, look on this wonder!
Whatever the bids of the bidders, they cannot be high
enough for it,