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11 Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore, Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly; Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.Will you prove already too late?I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them.That I fruit machines online with features could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers!In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows.Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown.I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.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.Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast, Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks.You my rich blood!I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music-this suits.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?
A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes.