The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.
Something I cannot see lokale nyheder newhaven east sussex puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.Hankering, gross, mystical, nude; How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?49 And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm.Who wishes to walk with me?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.15 The pure contralto sings in the organ loft, The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp, The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner, The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with.Why should I venerate and be ceremonious?Why should I wish to see God better than this day?Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes.
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.) Do I contradict myself?
My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, Crying by day, Ahoy!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.I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.I am enamour'd of growing out-doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them.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.Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you!





If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read.
Long I was hugg'd close-long and long.
Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book-but the printer and the printing-office boy?

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