Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty,. Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,. Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead? People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation,.
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,. The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,. Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events;.
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Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders,. I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,. Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,.
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How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me,. And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,. And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet. Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,.
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,.
Lord Byron – English Bards and Scotch Reviewers | Genius
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed. A child said What is the grass?
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
The Annotated Army Song Book Part 1
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps,. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,. And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,. And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps. And what do you think has become of the women and chil- dren?
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,. I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots,. I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself,. For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,. For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers,. And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand. The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,. I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen. The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders,.
The Call of the Wild In Plain and Simple English (Annotated)
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,. The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital,. The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd,. What groans of over-fed or half-starv'd who fall sunstruck or in fits,. What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and give birth to babes,. What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls restrain'd by decorum,. Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips,.
I mind them or the show or resonance of them—I come and I depart. Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with my dog and gun by my side. The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud,. My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck. I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;. I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl,. Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders,.
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand,. She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet. Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,. 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 plasters 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. Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather,. The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair,. The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,.
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bend- ing arch,. The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market,. Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire. The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,.
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,. The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain,. The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois'd on one leg on the string-piece,.
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over his hip-band,. His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead,.
The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of his polish'd and perfect limbs. I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there,. In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing,. To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object miss- ing,. Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?