Fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?
32 I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long.That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers!The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.Hurrah for positive science!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.Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors?Root of wash'd sweet-flag!Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now.
28 Is this then a touch?
Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book-but the printer and the printing-office boy?
Long I was hugg'd close-long and long.
A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, spilleautomat listen med spill apper The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
Does the daylight astonish?
36 Stretch'd and still lies the midnight, Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the one we have conquer'd, The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white.
And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.21 I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new.The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore.34 Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth, (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo 'Tis the tale of the murder.A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.