Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them? 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 in and assured him, And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet, And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes, And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles; He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the angolo. 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 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 am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two, They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin. Did it make you ache so, leaving me? Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so. 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 I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again.
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass'd all over their bodies. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. The sharp-hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings, I see in them and myself the same old law. Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me 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. Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire.
11.11.2017 : 09:14 Moogukinos:
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