Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you.
Are you the President?
Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.
Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.Do I astonish more than they?Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left you shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look.Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain.It shall be you!12 The butcher-boy puts off äldre kvinnor söker unga frun his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.
She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.
For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care.
Did it make you ache so, leaving me?Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as.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.Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all.9 The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow.They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania.Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation gränser i dating relationer and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and.Where are you off to, lady?Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.