The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
Smile, for your lover comes.
What is a man anyhow?I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development.The suicide donna matura cerca uomo treviso sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.To behold the day-break!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.No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they.You seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all.
Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, (said he His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking.
What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever.
I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you!Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.Have you outstript the rest?The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad.The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek.The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.