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Root of wash'd sweet-flag!
The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors.Is he from the Mississippi country?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.You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing.26 Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward.Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.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.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!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.The saints and sages in history-but you yourself?Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.Somehow I have been stunn'd.His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around gokkast hacken met mobiel and return.Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.Long I was hugg'd close-long and long.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.The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp.
(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.