Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,Ĭlear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance andĪlways a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Nor any more youth or age than there is now,Īnd will never be any more perfection than there is now, There was never any more inception than there is now, I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of theīut I do not talk of the beginning or the end. You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, The eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Have you practis'd so long to learn to read? Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much? The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies ofĪ few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore andĭark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing I am mad for it to be in contact with me.Įchoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
#PUBLISHER OF THE SONG LET IT SNOW FULL#
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with Nature without check with original energy. I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,īorn here of parents born here from parents the same, and their I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. 5, 2004, at Disjecta.įor every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. Save Point 0.8.1, a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug.
, miniature, minimalist-inspired sculptures created from industrial cereamics, an art project at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon. Tina Blue's Beginner's Guide to Prosody, exactly what the title says, and well worth reading.Įpicanthic Fold: "If a guy somewhere in Asia makes a blog and no one reads it, does it really exist?" This is the source of the first poetry placed on DayPoems. Project Gutenberg, a huge collection of books as text, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990.
#PUBLISHER OF THE SONG LET IT SNOW UPDATE#
Walt Whitman: Song of Myself The DayPoems Poetry CollectionĬlick to submit poems to DayPoems, comment on DayPoems or a poem within, comment on other poetry sites, update links, or simply get in touch. To link to this poem, put the URL below into your page:
0 kommentar(er)
