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We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
What do you think has become of the young and old men?A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?Eleves, I salute you!Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any giochi slot machine gratis online jungle wild thing.One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey.Double-click the downloaded file to install the software.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.Nest of guarded duplicate eggs!I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation?) I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things.Firm masculine colter it shall be you!To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.What is a man anyhow?
I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, (I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.) I exist.
Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender.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.Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies; That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men.8 The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.I do not know it-it is without name-it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!
I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice, In vessels that.