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And what do you think has become of the women and children?
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!
Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!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.13 The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain, The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois'd on one leg on the string-piece, His blue shirt exposes.12 The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.
So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.
I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, I go with the team also.
Fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?
The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.49 And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm.Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part.Smile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth!