Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves.
And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.
Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.
Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With spel feeds zynga slots the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.) I hear and behold God.I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.Let it all out!(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door.I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.The saints and sages in history-but you yourself?
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.
52 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.Till we find where the sly one hides and bring him forth, Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life, Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death.The clock indicates the moment-but what does eternity indicate?And what do you think has become of the women and children?You seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?12 The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing, To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song.I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim'd shots, The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, The.You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!