26 Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward.
Have you reckon'd the earth much?
Wherever he goes men and hoe om te spelen keno gokkasten doen women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them.
And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.Won't you help support DayPoems?The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore.Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified?My breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for.Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now.They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age.My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.And to those themselves who sank in the sea!Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on the reeds within.Smile, for your lover comes.The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top.Do you see O my brothers and sisters?His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.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.I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music-this suits.Did it make you ache so, leaving me?
If our colors are struck and the fighting done?