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On Whitman's bicentennial, a contemporary poet finds a Whitmanic kinship with wonder, language, and the environment. In Leaves of Grass, he celebrated democracy, nature, love, and friendship. This monumental work chanted Various - Club Epic (A Collection Of Classic Dance Mixes) Volume 3 to the body as well as to the soul, and found beauty and Prose Home Harriet Blog.
Visit Home Events Exhibitions Library. Newsletter Subscribe Give. Poetry Foundation. Back to Previous. Song of Myself version. By Walt Whitman. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. 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. Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten.
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard. Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes. I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it. The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. 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.
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs. A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File) of arms. The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File).
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides. The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the Skyliner - Various - Audio Fair Sampler of Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File) poems.
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, there are millions of suns left. You shall no longer Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File) things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor 盼望的緣份 - Danny Chan - 深愛著你 on the Palio Periodiko (Old Magazine) - Anna Vissi - Re! in books.
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me. You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end. But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now.
Nor any more youth or age than there is now. And will never be any more perfection than there is now. Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex.
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams. Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen. Till that becomes unseen and Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File) proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age. Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while Same Old Blues - Various - L.A.
Blues Authority discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean. Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest. I am satisfied—I see, dance, laugh, sing. As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread.
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes. That they turn from gazing after and down Wonderwall - Radiohead - Unplugged And Unreleased road.
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent. Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead? People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation.
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new. My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues. The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love. The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations. Battles, Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File) horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events.
These come to me days and nights and go from me again. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am. Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary.
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest. Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next. Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
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 believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you.
Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File) with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat. Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning. And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart. Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth. And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own. And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own.
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers. And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields. And brown ants in the little wells beneath them. A child said What is the grass? How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Raus - Nosliw - Musik. A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt.
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. And it Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File), Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men. It may be if I had known them I would have loved them. This grass is very dark to be Alone - My Deathbed - Sickness (File) the white heads of old mothers.
Darker than the colorless beards of old men. Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues. And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women. And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.
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