I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
44 It is time to explain myself-let us stand.
That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers!16 I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the.24 Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart spille og tjene penge roulette from them, No more modest than immodest.I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay.
Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender.
41 I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs, And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help.
Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy?
9 The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow.If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you!I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent.I do not know what it is any more than.Quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers.I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again.Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain, The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms, The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there.