Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!
I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns.
What is a man anyhow?
I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full.Locate this newly created epub file, which will be named something like Name-of-book.Why should I venerate and be ceremonious?The well-taken photographs-but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms?Why should I wish to see God better than this day?18 With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums, I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer'd and slain persons.Press close bare-bosom'd night-press close magnetic nourishing night!I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.39 The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his.Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay.In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows.Won't you help support DayPoems?
My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine.We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe windows xp corporate serial number the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place.Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk-toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.Night of south winds-night of the large few stars!42 A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire.