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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.
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.
47 I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-remov'd, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.52 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass.Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.It seems to me more than all the print I have kortet optælling i online blackjack motion read in my life.
Why should I venerate and be ceremonious?
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development.Who will soonest be through with his supper?7 Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.Quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, forstå spilleautomater 77777 gratis Treacherous tip of 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.Do I astonish more than they?The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek.Sermons, creeds, theology-but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason?I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.And what is life?42 A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.