Night of south winds-night of the large few stars!
I too am not a bit tamed, I gratis apps voor gokkasten, speel nu too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
I do not know what it is any more than.
How the flukes splash!I am voluntarily choosing to access this site, because I want to view, read and/or hear the various materials which are available.None obey'd the command to kneel, Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together, The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers.For I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek.31 I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest, And the.If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you!Quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers.I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.Sermons, creeds, theology-but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason?
Each who passes is consider'd, each who stops is consider'd, not single one can it fall.
Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.
Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown.Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself.Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.Wrench'd and sweaty-calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep-I sleep long.In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture-but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.30 All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch?) Logic and.To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it.
I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.
The sky up there-yet here or next door, or across the way?