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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.
Still nodding night-mad naked summer night.The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The hur man vinner på video slots gräns heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past online casino instant bonus is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all.By the city's quadrangular houses-in log huts, camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees.Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.It is not chaos or death-it is form, union, plan-it is eternal life-it is Happiness.And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd.This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate.I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again.
And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns-O grass of graves-O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you.
Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Somehow I have been stunn'd.
The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek.12 The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender.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.47 I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from.The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad.Continue your annotations, continue your questionings.Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety.I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands.The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors.I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.