Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.
1900 Comment on DayPoems?
I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me?His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?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.Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small.Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.39 The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?Back to top DayPoems Poem.I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any.I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times, How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, How he knuckled tight and gave not back.From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking.
Quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
Old age superbly rising!