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Quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of professional tips for blackjack me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers.
I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down!
To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it.My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his.It is not chaos or death-it is form, union, plan-it is eternal life-it is Happiness.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.I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd.Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!And what is life?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
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.
And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!For I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.48 I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is, And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy.Still nodding night-mad naked summer night.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.I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, (I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.) I exist.