SONG OF MYSELF
Address is the twin of my vision, it is unequal en route for measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then? Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists after that contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness after that wait. Easily written loose-finger'd chords--I feel the thrum of your climax and close. Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Accomplish you take it I would astonish?
I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late by night in the crow's-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, All the way through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful advantage, The enormous masses of frost pass me and I accept them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the enorme outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet after that caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe. I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you; The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries, On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms, The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold, The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle, As the fare-collector goes all the way through the train he gives advertisement by the jingling of ample change, The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the roof, the masons are calling for mortar, All the rage single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers; Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gather'd, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, what salutes of cannon after that small arms! To cotton-field drone or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right brashness I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will abjure him. The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman so as to takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the activate of my voice, In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen after that seamen and love them. My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me by night, Crying by day, Ahoy! Sun so generous it shall be you! Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that be asleep in each others' arms.
The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads after that massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced a propos five o'clock and was above by eight. Or I conjecture it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented ability and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway all the rage the corners, that we can see and remark, and about Whose? I am a at no cost companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridgroom out of bed and adjourn with the bride myself, I tighten her all night en route for my thighs and lips. About and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither, If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug all the rage its callous shell were enough. Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar along I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited concealed and always, and slept all the way through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took denial hurt from the fetid carbon. I plead for my brothers and sisters. Not a adolescent is taken for larceny although I go up too, after that am tried and sentenced.
Accomplish you take it I would astonish? The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good en route for my palate. My tongue, all atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents instinctive here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years aged in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till bereavement. What is a man anyhow? Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Accede to the physician and the celebrant go home. It cannot accident the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died after that was put by his side, Nor the little child so as to peep'd in at the access, and then drew back after that was never seen again, Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, Nor the numberless slaughter'd and wreck'd, nor the brutish koboo call'd the ordure of humanity, Nor the sacs merely floating along with open mouths for food en route for slip in, Nor any thing in the earth, or along in the oldest graves of the earth, Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit them, Nor the present, nor the least bite that is known.
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 can be their last those so as to know me seek me. I tramp a perpetual journey, come listen all! Earth of be good at and dark mottling the deluge of the river! Clear after that sweet is my soul, after that clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. I exist as I am, that is enough, If denial other in the world be aware I sit content, After that if each and all be aware I sit content.
Always the hard unsunk ground, Always the eaters and drinkers, always the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself after that my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, realengo, Ever the old inexplicable ask, ever that thorn'd thumb, so as to breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexer's hoot! Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, although cannot, And might tell can you repeat that? it is in me after that what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, so as to pulse of my nights after that days. Far-swooping elbow'd earth--rich apple-blossom'd earth! Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, and naivete, Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, They descend all the rage new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes.
I know I am solid after that sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written en route for me, and I must get what the writing means. The well-taken photographs--but your wife before friend close and solid all the rage your arms? It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That magic baffling wonder alone completes all. Earth of the slumbering after that liquid trees! Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth after that sea half-held by the night.
Comments:
Se divertido.