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I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm d force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, 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.Not a mutineer walks handcuff d to jail but I am handcuff d to him and walk by his side, (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe.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.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, I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small. It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on.
She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window. I troop forth replenish d with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years.Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen and love them.
The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.
On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes.