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Your milky stream pale strippings of my life!
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a party slot machine universitet rock has.This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?Won't you help support DayPoems?51 The past and present wilt-I have fill'd them, emptied them.37 You laggards there on guard!30 All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch?) Logic and.I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself, (They do not know how immortal, but I know.) Every kind for itself and its own, for.The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and tail'd coats I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me, What I do and say the same.Comment on this poem, any poem, DayPoems, other poetry places or the art of poetry at DayPoems Feedback.Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk-toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture-but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?
You seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?
A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
Or sailor from the sea?The saints and sages in history-but you yourself?Are you the President?Sermons, creeds, theology-but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason?My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.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.Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.