This entry is about patience. It
reminds me of one of Whitman's maxims about seeing the poetry in
neglected objects. He wonders where “the best is always
cumulative.” Certain things (art, people, places), he notes, won't
always at first appear special, but through time their brilliance is
revealed. It may take years, but this is the way the “best” has
been revealed to Whitman, either through “stealth” or a “sudden
bursting forth.” He decries people who only want things “for the
nonce.”
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