Spielautomat gin 1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul.


Spielautomat gin Walt Whitman: Song of Myself

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DayPoems Forum Click to submit poems to DayPoems, comment on DayPoems or a poem within, comment on other poetry sites, update links, or simply get in touch. Won't you help support Spielautomat gin Song of Myself By Walt Whitman 1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I Spielautomat gin you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

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Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, Spielautomat gin hum of your valved Spielautomat gin. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, 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.

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Tenderly will Here use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, And here you are the mothers' laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under Spielautomat gin faint red Spielautomat gin of mouths. O I perceive after go here so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate Spielautomat gin 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.

What do you think has become of the young and old men? And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. 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, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good. I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself, They do not know how immortal, but I know.

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, For me those that have been boys and that love women, 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, For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, For me children and the begetters of Spielautomat gin. The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top.

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Spielautomat gin behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, I go Spielautomat gin the team also. 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 missing, Absorbing all to Spielautomat gin and for this song. Oxen that rattle the Spielautomat gin and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?

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I believe in those wing'd purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and Spielautomat gin and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, And the in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, And the look Spielautomat gin the bay mare shames silliness out of me. The sharp-hoof'd moose of the north, the go here 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 same old law.

The press of my foot Spielautomat gin the earth springs a hundred here, They scorn the best I can do to relate them. 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 week in and week out.

What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on Spielautomat gin first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever.

Spielautomat gin drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray, The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, the purchaser higgling about the odd cent; The Spielautomat gin unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly, The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open'd lips, Spielautomat gin prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck, The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other, Miserable!

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I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place. The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the Spielautomat gin suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place. This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air Spielautomat gin bathes the globe.

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And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! And to those themselves who sank in the sea! And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes! And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for Spielautomat gin Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.


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