Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
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.
29 Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd touch!
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt.Won't you help support DayPoems?And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns-O grass of graves-O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you.Do I astonish more than they?I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again.Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain.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.The sky up there-yet here or next door, or across the way?And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!Wrench'd and sweaty-calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep-I sleep long.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.Perhaps I might tell more.
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing, To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song.Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through.Hankering, gross, mystical, nude; How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them.The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp.Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister?Or I guess søger kvindelige værelses nurnberg the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read.
For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care.