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.
A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my telecharger machine a sous 85 caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.By the city's quadrangular houses-in log huts, camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees.We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd, My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.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.Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few.Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded?Sleep-I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you.Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game.
I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.
(The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.) 17 These are really the thoughts.Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain.There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, jeux gratuit de casino sans telechargement virtuel it would not avail the long run, We should surely bring up again where.52 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek.