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What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.
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.There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail the long run, We should surely bring up again where.We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.You seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?Quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, 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.49 And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm.Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you.My breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for.Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all.I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development.Have you outstript the rest?Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.
The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against.
The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.


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The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad.You are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded, I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again.Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass.Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge casino spin genie from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!
A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!