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What are you doing?
Wrench'd and sweaty-calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep-I sleep long.Hang your whole weight upon.If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore, The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of rocky gokkast xcode waves key, The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.20 Who goes there?I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there.I resign myself to you also-I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land.The sharp-hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings, I see in them and myself the.My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, 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, Hoping to cease not till death.Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.Till we find where the sly one hides and bring him forth, Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life, Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death.
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For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night.
31 I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest, And the.
Easily written loose-finger'd chords-I feel the thrum of your climax and close.
23 Endless unfolding of words of ages!
I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and.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.Why should I wish to see God better than this day?My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few.The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets-but the pluck of the captain and engineers?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.