,<br>  For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet<br>      needed most, I bring,<br>  Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,<br>  The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,<br>  A book separate, not link’d with the rest nor felt by the intellect,<br>  But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.<br>-Leaves of Grass Walt Whitman