Again gurgles the mouth of my vuxna finder vän i logga in dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me-mind-the entrenchments.
23 Endless unfolding of words of ages!I do not know it-it is without name-it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door.If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you!(Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies.) A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat.Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!Now lokala sex i woodruff idaho I see it is true, what I guess'd at, 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.Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore, The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key, The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.4 Trippers and askers surround me, People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues.What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand.It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.Won't you help support DayPoems?Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any.I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders, The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor, The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls, The hurrahs for.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.Who has done his day's work?
It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old.