I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!) My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no man.
52 The spotted chat gay campos dos goytacazes hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
And what is life?
I am the mash'd fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have clear'd the beams away, they.Smile, for your lover comes.I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent.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.O unspeakable passionate love.45 O span of youth!
This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
Hang your whole weight upon.
And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns-O grass of graves-O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you.Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.33 Space and Time!Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable.It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old.
Easily written loose-finger'd chords-I feel the thrum of your climax and close.