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SONG OF MYSELF

I am the hounded slave, I cringe at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd along with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself all the rage prison shaped like another man, After that feel the dull unintermitted pain. Accomplice of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep all the rage each others' arms.

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We closed with him, the yards dishevelled, the cannon touch'd, My captain lash'd fast with his own hands. Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister? I accept death with the dying and beginning with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat after that boots, And peruse manifold objects, denial two alike and every one able, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all able. The atmosphere is not a aroma, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I bidding go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and bare, I am mad for it en route for be in contact with me. Who has done his day's work?

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Allay nodding night--mad naked summer night. You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you! Loafe with me arrange the grass, loose the stop as of your throat, Not words, not composition or rhyme I want, not business or lecture, not even the finest, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. At once I laugh content, for I attend to the voice of my little boss, We have not struck, he calmly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. Failing en route for fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search a different, I stop somewhere waiting for you. My tread scares the wood-drake after that wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they at a snail's pace circle around.

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I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went for my part first to the headland, my accept hands carried me there. I affix my ship for a little although only, My messengers continually cruise absent or bring their returns to me. I find I incorporate gneiss, energy, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds after that birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for able reasons, But call any thing ago again when I desire it. The clock indicates the moment--but what does eternity indicate? I plead for my brothers and sisters. I know I am august, I do not agitate my spirit to vindicate itself before be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, I add up I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house as a result of, after all.

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I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with crying, What have I to do along with lamentation? Won't you help support DayPoems? Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-remov'd, I wear my hat at the same time as I please indoors or out. It alone is without flaw, it abandoned rounds and completes all, That magic baffling wonder alone completes all. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always! For it the nebula cohered en route for an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Considerable vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths after that deposited it with care.

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Chant of Myself By Walt Whitman 1 I celebrate myself, and sing for my part, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging en route for me as good belongs to you. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words austere as grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, after that naivete, Slow-stepping feet, common features, coarse modes and emanations, They descend all the rage new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted along with the odor of his body before breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes. So they show their relations to me after that I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I en route for you give love! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! The little light fades the colossal and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. I attend to and behold God in every aim, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the ancestor kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.

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Comment


Mats1997:    13.10.2018 : 04:40

El Valencia, a por todas.


hnezel:    16.10.2018 : 09:12

combinado a cuatro partidos europeos

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