Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified? I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men. I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you! 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 corner. 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. The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index.
20.09.2017 : 22:39 Kektilar:
Lei ha assolutamente ragione. In questo nulla in vi e 'una buona idea. Pronta a sostenere voi.
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