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I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Will you speak before I am gone?I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there.I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and.And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors?Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book-but the printer and the printing-office boy?And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings gokkasten online spelen 20 of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns-O grass of graves-O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you.Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.
Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.
25 Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out.




Who has done his day's work?51 The past and present wilt-I have fill'd them, emptied them.4 Trippers and askers surround me, People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues.This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game.Fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.8 The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice, In vessels that.
I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.
Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk-toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.




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