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Timothy Boveeeditor. Click on the bonsai for the next poem. Orr, Ted - Reflections and Poetry. Nodes powered by at dmoz. Won't you help support DayPoems? I celebrate myself, and sing myself. And what I assume you shall assume. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
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To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well. Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical. I and this mystery here we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen. Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age. Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they. Welcome is every organ and attribute of custom sites london writer essay custom, and of any man hearty and clean.
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The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new. My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues. The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love. The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss. Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news. These come to me days and nights and go from me again. But they are not the Me myself. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am. Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary.
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest. Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next. Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
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And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields. And brown ants in the little wells beneath them.
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Growing among black folks as among white. Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass. It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men.
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them. It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out.
And here you are the mothers' laps. Click grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers. Darker than the colorless beards of old men. Dark to come from under the der best analysis essay writing site gb der red custom critical thinking writer sites gb of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues. And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women. And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken. What do you think has become of the young and old men?. And what do you think has become of the women and children?. They are alive and well somewhere.
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the. And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses. And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?. I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and. And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good. The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth. I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and. They do not know how immortal, but I know. Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female.
For me those that have been boys and that love women. For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted. For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the. For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears. For me children and the begetters of children. I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no.
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The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls. The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous'd mobs.
The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital. The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall. The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his. The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes. What groans of over-fed or half-starv'd who fall sunstruck or in fits. What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and. What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls.
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On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant. She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks.
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Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore. Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly. Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome. She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank. She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window. Which of the young men does she like the best?. Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. Where are you off to, lady? You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room. Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather.
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair. Little streams pass'd all over their bodies. An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies. It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.
The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the. They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch. They do not think whom they souse with spray. The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife. I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down. Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil. Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in. From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements.
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If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing. If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing. This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is.
This the common air that bathes the globe. With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums. I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for.
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?. I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit.
I beat and pound for the dead. I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. Vivas to those who have fail'd!. And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!. And to those themselves who sank in the sea!. And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!. And custom critical thinking writer sites gb numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!. This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger.
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I am he that walks with the tender and growing night. I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. Press close bare-bosom'd night--press close magnetic nourishing night!.
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