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Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.
The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors.
Will you speak before I am gone?
My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine.Comment on this poem, any poem, DayPoems, other poetry places or the art of poetry at DayPoems Feedback.I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd.The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight.On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes.Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last.Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall casino online live be less familiar than the rest.It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.And to those themselves who sank in the sea!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.Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.Do you see O my brothers and sisters?Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself.I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin, I fall.Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.8 The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors.No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they.


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