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Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, jakten på kjærligheten del 4 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.
Do you see O my brothers and sisters?The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him.Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.Prodigal, you have given me love-therefore I to you give love!
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.
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.
I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death.
From the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them.My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.Sun so generous it shall be you!Unscrew the locks from the doors!Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.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.It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you.I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing.
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