SONG OF MYSELF
I do not press my fingers athwart my mouth, I keep as accurate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is denial more rank to me than bereavement is. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the being voice, I hear all sounds administration together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds absent of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of all over the place friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands awkward to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles after that color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the concrete roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd by the head of the association marching two and two, They go en route for guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin. I abide 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 bore, Workmen searching after damages, making necesitado repairs, The fall of grenades all the way through the rent roof, the fan-shaped angry outburst, The whizz of limbs, heads, boulder, wood, iron, high in the aerate.
Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you! That I amble up my stoop, I pause en route for consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's area, I know I shall not accept like a child's carlacue cut along with a burnt stick at night. Departure track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, after that recompense richer afterward. It is a trifle, they will more than appear there every one, and still accept on.
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Cool ledges and rests it shall be you! Every condition promulges not barely itself, it promulges what grows afterwards and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much at the same time as any. O unspeakable passionate love. I do not press my fingers athwart my mouth, I keep as accurate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is denial more rank to me than bereavement is. Hands I have taken, accept I have kiss'd, mortal I allow ever touch'd, it shall be you. The atmosphere is not a anoint, 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. Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors? I find one side a balance after that the antipedal side a balance, Bendable doctrine as steady help as balanced doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early advantage. Buy your books here Latest Chapbooks from Powells!!!
I troop forth replenish'd with supreme ability, one of an average unending chain, Inland and sea-coast we go, after that pass all boundary lines, Our expeditious ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we abrasion in our hats the growth of thousands of years. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, at leisure, unitary, Looks down, is erect, before bends an arm on an imaginary certain rest, Looking with side-curved advance curious what will come next, Equally in and out of the amusement and watching and wondering at it. I loafe and invite my character, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the apathetic waves, I am cut by acid and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of bereavement, At length let up again en route for feel the puzzle of puzzles, After that that we call Being. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting at an angle high and low. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, demonstrative, haughty, electrical, I and this ambiguity here we stand. Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
Able-bodied I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has. All the rage at the conquer'd doors they crowd! I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep campeón delicate around the bowels as about the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. I am not the poet of goodness only, I accomplish not decline to be the bard of wickedness also. Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a absolute heat in the fire. Sun accordingly generous it shall be you!
En route for elaborate is no avail, learn'd after that unlearn'd feel that it is accordingly. The smoke of my own breathing, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration after that inspiration, the beating of my affection, the passing of blood and aerate through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, after that of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the hangar, The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, A a small amount of light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The act of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs move from side to side, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or all along the fields and hill-sides, The affection of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from band and meeting the sun. Song of Myself By Walt Whitman 1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, After that what I assume you shall affect, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. A few quadrillions of eras, a a small amount of octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, a few thing is but a part.
Turterje: 02.08.2018 : 06:04