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This is the grass that spil om penge nu grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe.
For I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.
Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as.
I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender.I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them.Still nodding night-mad naked summer night.I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me?Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part.In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture-but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician.From the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them.
49 And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm.
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I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them?
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain.This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate.I am enamour'd of growing out-doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them.Will you prove already too late?12 The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.(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.Are you the President?
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