and out of the game.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out.I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development.You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing.Who wishes to walk with me?7 Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?Do you take it I would astonish?The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd 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.A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe.You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood.37 You laggards there on guard!
For I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.
(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them.
In nyeste spilleautomater 7 rød the houses the dishes and fare and furniture-but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?
I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems.From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care.Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place.Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes.I am he attesting sympathy, (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?) I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they.Look to your arms!I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue.I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.