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36 Stretch'd and still lies the midnight, Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the one we have conquer'd, The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white.
I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.
Who has done his day's work?
Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.I resign myself to you online blackjack strategi live dealers also-I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land.I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins.The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek.For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night.15 The pure contralto sings in the organ loft, The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp, The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner, The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with.We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.Do you take it I would astonish?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.One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking.Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes.




I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation?) I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things.The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets-but the pluck of the captain and engineers?What have you to confide to me?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.Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.O manhood, balanced, florid and full.A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his.Copyright The DayPoems web site, t, is copyright by Timothy.Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded?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.