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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.We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read.Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.Sleep-I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you.
Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!




Look to your arms!This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days!I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.
A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.