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O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.27 To be in any form, what is that?The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp.I plead for my brothers and sisters.Easily written loose-finger'd chords-I feel the thrum of your climax and close.Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left you shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look.Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.What do you think has become of the young and old men?Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.24 Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.Sun so generous it shall be you!It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old.4 Trippers and askers surround me, 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 saints and sages in history-but you yourself?What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever.One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking.What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.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.My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time.
I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.