If the poet would permit me license ....

I sing the Body electric;
....
And if the body does not do as much as the Soul?
And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul?
....
The love of the body of man or woman balks account—the body itself balks account;
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.
....
The sprawl and fullness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards,
....
The female soothing a child—the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn—the sleigh-driver guiding his six horses through the crowd,
....
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes—the bent head, the curv’d neck, and the counting;
Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child,
....
I know a man, a common farmer—the father of five sons;
And in them were the fathers of sons—and in them were the fathers of sons.
....
This is the female form;
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot;
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction!
....
This is the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, the man is born of woman;
This is the bath of birth—this is the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed, women—your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest;
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities, and tempers them—she is in her place, and moves with perfect balance;
She is all things duly veil’d—she is both passive and active;
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.

The male is not less the soul, nor more—he too is in his place;
He too is all qualities—he is action and power;
....
The man’s body is sacred, and the woman’s body is sacred;
No matter who it is, it is sacred;
....
This is not only one man—this is 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?
....
She too is not only herself—she is the teeming mother of mothers;
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the Body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the Body of a man?
....
Womanhood, and all that is a woman—and the man that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
...
O I say, these are not the parts and poems of the Body only, but of the Soul,
O I say now these are the Soul!

-Excerpts from "I Sing the Body Electric," Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman