13 The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain, The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois'd on one leg on the string-piece, His blue shirt exposes.
O unspeakable passionate love.
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.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.41 I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs, And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help.You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.Where are you off to, lady?Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with.
24 Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.
I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood.Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.Nest of guarded duplicate eggs!(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.And to those themselves who sank in the sea!The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless, It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad.Did it make you ache so, leaving me?Hurrah for positive science!