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Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that breath of itches and.
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Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index.The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top.Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them.We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.Does the daylight astonish?A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not bedste online slots, video hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part.I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they.Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer slot maskine font spil than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.By the city's quadrangular houses-in log huts, camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees.Becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.




That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning.It shall be you!My breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for.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 and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and.I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded?What do you think has become of the young and old men?