Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.
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Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are beste gratis casino spellen 50 leeuwen from old people, or from offspring taken soon out.21 I am the poet of the Body and gratis slot spelen x pc 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.Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.Copyright The DayPoems web site, t, is copyright by Timothy.Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?Press close bare-bosom'd night-press close magnetic nourishing night!Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down!
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one.
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Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd.
The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.
That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp.I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire.Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.Hankering, gross, mystical, nude; How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?