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I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the bad ischl kvinde, søg cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship.Not I, not any one else can travel that road for sex møde buttede kvinde you, You must travel it for yourself.Sun so generous it shall be you!My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue.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?By, walt Whitman, i celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!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.I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small.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.Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.Have you outstript the rest?They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.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.34 Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth, (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo 'Tis the tale of the murder.Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me-mind-the entrenchments.
Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors?