Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy?
I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin, I fall.
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.Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left you shall no longer take things at second or europeisk roulette gratis att spela online third hand, nor look.The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.
Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.
This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from.(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.My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.20 Who goes there?I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing.I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.Have you outstript the rest?
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.