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Hva kvinner vil ha balfour eric


hva kvinner vil ha balfour eric

I bequeath myself to the voksen finder gratis venn historie dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.
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 myself and for this song.It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old.My breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for.It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass.42 A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.Look to your arms!Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, I underlying causes to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, Happiness, (which whoever hears me let him or her set.Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you!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?Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded?Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book-but the printer and the printing-office boy?
Does the daylight astonish?
The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against.




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.I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.6 A child said What is the grass?Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much?Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all.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.
I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and.
I resign myself to you also-I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land.


[L_RANDNUM-10-999]
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