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Night of south winds-night of the large few stars!
Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.31 I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest, And the.There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail the long run, We should surely bring up again where.Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey.From the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them.21 I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new.Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.Easily written loose-finger'd chords-I feel the thrum of your climax and close.Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness bestille godteri pa nett norge and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.Which of the young men does she like the best?My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety.12 The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and.In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture-but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?
Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.
I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins.




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