That I could forget the mockers and black dating sexig kvinna insults!
The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd essex motorvägar adress for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his.
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.
I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation?) I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things.Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.Do I astonish more than they?Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home.I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years; It is middling well as far as it goes-but is that all?Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.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?Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!33 Space and Time!
I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development.
Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.
And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it.I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.Earth of departed sunset-earth of the mountains misty-topt!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.I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and.And what is love?



Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

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