A man's body at auction,
 (For before the war I often go to the slave-
     mart and watch the sale,)
 I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not 
     half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder,
 Whatever the bids of the bidders they
     cannot be high enough for it,
 For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of
     years without one animal or plant,
 For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily 
     roll'd.

In this head the all-baffling brain,
 In it and below it the makings of heroes.
 
Examine these limbs, red, black, or white,
     they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
 They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
 Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone
     and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized
     arms and legs,
 And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood,
 The same old blood! the same red-running
     blood!
 There swells and jets a heart, there all
     passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,
 (Do you think they are not there because
     they are not express'd in parlors and 
     lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of
     those who shall be fathers in their turns,
 In him the start of populous states and rich
     republics,
 Of him countless immortal lives with
     countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the
     offspring of his offspring through the
     centuries?
 (Who might you find you have come from
     yourself, if you could trace back through
     the centuries?)