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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?
I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down!This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.42 A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The gratis jackpot slots mynt grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from.5 I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, And you must not be abased to the other.You are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded, I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that breath of itches and.I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue.
13 The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain, The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois'd on one leg on the string-piece, His blue shirt exposes.




Who has done his day's work?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.Vivas to those who have fail'd!One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey.What have you to confide to me?I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders, The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor, The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls, The hurrahs for.The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top.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.From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.
6 A child said What is the grass?