Look to your arms!
Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender.
My breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for.Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few.For I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.Now I see it is true, what I guess'd at, What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass, What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning.Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance facebook slots spel recension for themselves.Sermons, creeds, theology-but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason?If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read.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.I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part.
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from.
Fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?Why should I wish to see God better than this day?Back to top DayPoems Poem.Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown.8 The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship.This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.6 A child said What is the grass?My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.Have you reckon'd the earth much?