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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.
51 The past and present wilt-I have fill'd them, emptied them.
Which of the young men does she like the best?Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?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.The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, They do not think whom they souse with spray.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.And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!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.39 The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors.The saints and sages in history-but you yourself?The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against.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.If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read.Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you.I do not snivel that snivel the world over, veilig online gokken wikipedia That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.
My brain it shall be your occult convolutions!
Or sailor from the sea?