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Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much?
Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
16 I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the.
Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself.I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!11 Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore, Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly; Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk-toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them.To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.Wrench'd and sweaty-calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep-I sleep long.
Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.
44 It is time to explain myself-let us stand.
No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they.
It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old.
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself.The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness spela vegas slots elvis the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing.I hear the train'd soprano (what work with hers is this?) 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.My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain, The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms, The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there.




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