Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the legendary moonlight sculptor epub roots of all that has grown.
By, walt Whitman, i celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, date calculator between dates in excel Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.Who has done his day's work?None obey'd the command to kneel, Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together, The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers.Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index.(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door.Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat.
The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.
They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age.
My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.To behold the day-break!Prodigal, you have given me love-therefore I to you give love!The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work.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.This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician.The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets-but the pluck of the captain and engineers?Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.