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If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore, The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key, The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.
Who wishes to walk with me?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.I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years; It is middling well as far as it goes-but is that all?Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself.Vivas to those who have fail'd!In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture-but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?Something it swings on more than the earth eingetragene Sexualstraftäter 08002 I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes.This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe.And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!Night of south winds-night of the large few stars!




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.My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, Crying by day, Ahoy!Back to top DayPoems Poem.I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.51 The past and present wilt-I have fill'd them, emptied them.I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood!Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home.Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index.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.The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.



She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.
My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.
That I could forget the mockers and insults!

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