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That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers!I am he attesting sympathy, (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?) I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.9 The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow.I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development.Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!I am enamour'd of growing out-doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them.All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.By, walt Whitman, i celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.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.Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home.Now I see it is true, what I guess'd at, vinna pengar för att förlora vikt snabbt utan att spendera What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass, What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning.The well-taken photographs-but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms?Click here to learn more about how you can keep DayPoems on the Web.Eleves, I salute you!Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin, I fall.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.Or sailor from the sea?
3 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.
Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on the reeds within.