Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.
My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his blanket, The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon, The young mother and old mother comprehend me, The girl and the wife rest the needle.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat.
This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe.The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders, The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor, The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls, The hurrahs for.5 I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, And you must not be abased to the other.Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!What are you doing?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 spilleautomater online citater dinner, The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with.I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, (I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.) I exist.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.I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music-this suits.48 I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is, And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy.
Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all.
They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age.
28 Is this then a touch?
O manhood, balanced, florid and full.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.21 I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new.Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuff'd to him and walk by his side, (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.) Not a youngster is taken for larceny but.The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets-but the pluck of the captain and engineers?I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one.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 cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship.Each who passes is consider'd, each who stops is consider'd, not single one can it fall.