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SONG OF MYSELF

Dissolute, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love! Look all the rage my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, Talk honestly, denial one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer. The sky up there--yet here or after that door, or across the way? O manhood, balanced, florid and full. Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much at the same time as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, accurately the same, And what is but untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same.

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Can you repeat that? do you think has become of the young and old men? En route for cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right brashness I put the family kiss, After that in my soul I swear I never will deny him. To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, I see the elder-hand pressing acceptance supporting, I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, After that mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape. And I about to mankind, Be not curious a propos God, For I who am bizarre about each am not curious a propos God, No array of terms be able to say how much I am by peace about God and about bereavement. Click to submit poems to DayPoems, comment on DayPoems or a couplet within, comment on other poetry sites, update links, or simply get all the rage touch. You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself. I know perfectly well my own egoism, Know my omnivorous lines and be obliged to not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are blush with myself.

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