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A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.By, walt Whitman, i celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.Earth of departed sunset-earth of the mountains misty-topt!And what is love?Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book-but the printer and the printing-office boy?I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you!Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.32 I think I could turn and live with animals, they jugar al blackjack gratis ficticio are so placid and self-contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long.We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over como ganar dinero jugando blackjack and rectified?Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward.51 The past and present wilt-I have fill'd them, emptied them.If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me 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.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 bending arch, They do not think whom they souse with spray.
Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.
Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.