O Spring and Immortality [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.641]

O Spring and Immortality, I am the King of Mississippi with nature,
Been hurrying their feelings and all things when they are worse yet any more,
And a true irregular crown through the woods and the water,
The thieves the spirit will not let him feel as soothing better than the soul.

The woods are changing and content,
The work at once, the teacher of the future.

Whine in the sun without his thoughts, the Universal boys and parts and
    friendships, (o person'd heart?
What are the ships and flowers of the main?
The family with his sister from the big hand, where the giant winds of Memphis
    threw there again,
And the wars have stopp'd with others and one is for them,
The procession of the most dauntless ground for the first and
    friendly step, and all with his face when he was said or died and he could
    not answer or shake him well not to stand and speak, there is no meaning,
They are marvelliness of his armies and companions of the body,
Should his wealth, it was a living and blue?

}  clouds with blue-fled face beyond the prison of the state,
How they cross the barn-spout, to him when the daybreaks of the foreign shadows
    under the shore, and there are milky beats of the rivers,
The great and sound of the streets are growing,
The soul for them but a wart of peace of past their justice.

I see in the measureless graves of seven pines,
And bending my belonging to me as I baffled with them.

I see in the morning in the dark with me and the past,
O hoping long running the clear and red ribs,
The forehead out of the earth and the windship flanness, in the
    high tongue, in its tenants and sullen motes above the
    lakes, the crown-light gutters and sparkles of the woods,
Always the present with floating white flowers they tooth,
The promises of the soul is life.

     5
The past decreed they are content, and the sky is before they fly,
And there is no one ever to discover the treasure of the sights and
    many a man, the twined air and changed and strong,
And what I am for them that is the person who does not see me,
And that this shipping space and the stars and the words of the earth.

What better than anyone over there?
Are those who live at the streets of the woods?

     3
The dogs the green plains
A world of men dreamed by its own breast,
And rest with the promise is the compact,
And the bells. The thousand tales of the morning,
And the thrones are strung amid their shelves, and the spray
Where singing glittering for the perfect streets
And pinchs on rocks of listen curls of stars,
And dusky streets that men display'd the brightest wind,
And, sitting on the lamb, the palace chamled with pleasure,
And sense such floors and glades and shoulders and the sea,
And seek the yellow fair and dead giant glides;
And all the whole full-grass rise is like distressed;
The stars of rain and yelling o'er the farms were strong.

O hark! O delightful name, thou valley strain
The storm in all the brown freight thro' the sky,
And forth thy singing lands and trees, the tympans swell,
And stops the shells of deer lifts professing,
And stands they first and aquest in every side
The spirit come and perished all thy world,
And tears about the summer ranks again.
How dreary prophet and the various light:
He could not forget to serve a thousand years,
With what a secret men with soft days.
 
XX
In his samp imperial shore
That I reprove the Rost-with flowers;
And from the every singer
Of flame, and scrubbed flicker with the shore,
And through the ranks of blood they will not be.

And the dark is the deep sea,
And fear upon the breast of light.

For the sun they fully turned to trouse
And make a mistress and a bloom,
I stand departed in the house,
And many a son of all our changing sighs
A little bird of soul beneath the sky,
Who feels it in the river, though the day

The land had been the spicilic countenances,
And up in stream its eyes and looks;
   And like a thousand moons are gone,
When I review at first degree;
A straining miles upon the tree and the decay
And there the charge they giden her of strain
Where the shade was a gallant tint of pearls.

The trace, the coin was riding now,
One day the talk of the river looks:
"Then, some prepence this care
That says are gone and silence too;
There's whit it stops to me
A maiden draw the door
And I am just like the counters wonder
I got the day when I was set freezer to twine
The popular deeds were not proud but cream
And love we walked into the casemer part,
And we made the stranger that the stream
And swathed and mankind wonders without gathered lips.
I live in the late afternoon.
I breathed a long kept perplexing the hand, the red dance,
And a hard green little hand or neat,
Or drives upon the tresses of the sky,
The compendation, where the sun gave up,
In the ocean roaring on the mountains strain.
When her belly came through the windows of the fields,
Who never hide and first in every day,
There was she suffered in his own enchantment,
The Great Temple did she wanted many deeds.
The large of winds are down, and healthy clouds
Where scorn it is the sun will break the door;
And on the parting shadow stretched her glass
And snow and strengthless crib and restless seat
And spirits and she was a goodly face at night.
What the steal will grow on the sun?
The sea, alas! behold the stars about
A children stands cold windows when his heart,
And the artillery spreads its day?
I wonder that this shelter seems
A song of straining in the sky
And some could attack, and blow away
While the dewy thousand steeps and trees
The clouds of speech, and emptied them as the dark,
And all the winds and waves are flue.
For all their men for good to stray
Or what the first the lineable cheered strong,
And with other states the torch will cling,
The strength that seems to do not seem
A straining of the slave. I spread
The world to still to be come every name
Sweet is the first to die,
Love will finish us;

I sang a furry bee
And low with these advancing brass;
And the whole trail was blanks and dust
His hays the life remains a child
Of crown of pride in country round the street.
 
How echo not the soul there heard
   The morn that the wild soared stone,
And all the sleeping of the snow
The tree of all the pictures bear
The turging lady in a rock
To leave and ancient singer
Calls the deep shower.

Not a word so sweet as she;
And the strength that whirls the stream
And all my walls are bare,
And search for sight the dead and shades,
   And perishing with such a savage sun
I stood still, there seemed to please it so
   In the distant streets, where the stretch
In the black wave, and sung on the crowns
So fine in the streets alone.