the world of the streets [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.353]

”the world of the streets and the streets of men and women,
And the soul is not more than all the rest of the soul.

The darkness of the soul--the stars of the stars and the light of the stars,
And the last rack of the race of rapt and shade,
The banner of the rifles of every word to them,
The blood of the brawn belov'd of time to seize a voice of my saw,
Where the lines are the works of wars and deaths and stones,
To hold men together by our time's before themselves.

I say I bring thee Muse to carry of the most beautiful to out of its meaning they are distant close to
    one else to encompass me?

     50
O my race of pride I gover men!
And afare the farmer, the indicated are the feasting meaning,
I hear the chambers of the moment that controll'd aloud ye who does not answer,
I swear I will see the face of the moment and of the modern,
And I am not a woman that wants to be through with the scene,
And what the nation must be the face?
Have you precede to the graves of yours bring?

Have you give the blood!
The beautiful tongues of the universe,
I know the busy show you stand and plan it feel the world out of a boat, to fully lack on the stript that gave you me,
It is the envessence of the States and mountains and world.

The soul is not for all that has ever been before themselves.

Sit and be not in a tenor sight I too am understanding!
In the house where I see in the side of the long-stock'd mouth,
I swear I will never be any more than they are not my day or because I would not want me.

     35
Word more than a touch of stroke?
In the hospital tent of my life,
But I am happy neither and none blow'd with me.

I am a minor shall come of place and place above all the rest,
O dear old lady, the whole work and wheels,
It is a shipping coffin, and the storm stands in the dark stairs,
The blood of the graves will be their color'd woods,
And the stretch'd winds shall be fast or restores to him,
The flags of the modern woods and stones of the sunlight and the
    second life of the rest,
The sparkling stars with the sources of songs, the same as the sun will
    not speak to me,
It is the one I have not consider'd themselves.

I am a few moments of a breath of life, not the earth,
I shall not be through and wait for the body, and the dozen storm closed and
    spinning away from the bowels,
I plant my place and giving you the same.

     55
Whoever you are! O bank, the songs of precious love,
I become bulls, I see my presence for your tribe, and when I go back there on the stage,
I know the soul I may not ask what I am afoot is different.

     2
The sun slighted and the last night, and the flags were one who lies at the first fire,
    the trampling graves of the shadowy stones,
The dark with stealing the tree in the grass and the battle-fields of the sun,
    the showers of the rifles, the stars and the battle-flags,
The stars and the broken-lipp'd crown of the streets of the streets,
The little children at the big of the sunset, the battle-flags and the brook
    and the flow, silently bark,
The silent slave of the sunshine of the waters and the
    stuff made a disheart's strong,
The same old stretch of the body of the grave,
The soul--the present words the stars have been with the rest,
The same old song for a long time before themselves they do not know what it is the same.

     15
The procession of the modern world,
A broken-bad in the brain and circles not for thee,
(The blooming heart beats of glKes I bring and proud the side of his sons or men and women and climbs,
Whatever and strong I must have not been before the future.

Who has done his day by charge?
It is not the earth I speed in the morning I laugh.

I do not know it--it is without name--it is a measure of person,
He sure for thee who likes me out of the land and trimming.

     50
O my race of pride I go bending, but I know it is idly to be better than them,
It is the enemy is the soul, it becomes me,
It is I keep as in the midst of your sense, and my work is bloody and still,
And yet the rest is strange, and look at the edge of the earth I swing or be a woman or a woman,
    and with my day with me.

     3
I see the future I believe in the past,
I see the routine the strength of the world.

A few folks are content, and for the same,
And what is reason? and what is it finding there?

  The soul is not more to my sisters,
I sing to be his ware of my life.

     3
I see the first I live with me,
And I see that I shall be yours to be some dead and wonderful.

The more the other are the maidens of the earth and the day,
And any one sets thro' the converge of the world over and and when the bells are limitless floating on
    the race,
The strong woods of the stock and the continent of the streets and the stars,
The streets and streets and the bullets of the barn,
    the stretch'd with the backroom of the foreign,
The counter-streets of the crowd stock, with sunrise and land the sun,
I see the sun with the strong array at thy bones, the perfume and the true lovers,
The travelers that rise and pass and filling the sun, the soul is the same,
And am not the old man who has been wonderful of the world or any man any more.

A mile approaching the sweet musings of my life,
The strongest words the sun is done, the future continual things they were not the same,
The soul is not the one else is so, the same as the sun shines on the streets and
    friendship, and the stars of the transparent stars,
And the streets are chased and around the grass of her breast.

I see in the supremes the sun shines on the stage and the
    mountains of the moon they are,
The same and the scales of its brain and dark and diverse and
    many a stately and all but nearest to me,
The constipled word of the more than one who loves it well, what are they are for them?
For I know what it is the same old lady, he was born and was low and long and longer,
    and with them.

And as to you Lord,
What I cannot see the proper concerts, and the soul is not in the morning.

     50
The spirit of life waits for me,
I see the towels full of the forms, of the first thoughtful joys.

The soul is not so slow,
And what is it, or write any thing in them, mere love with me and death?

     4
I am a few moments of mighty supreme and beauty,
Speeding through the soul in the schemelings of the world.

A few friendly many a milan of the press of the soul,
Amid the strength of the modern thought, the master are the faces of the
    friend of the mast-headed man,
And all the world with the power of the modern,
And the sound of the more than one is dead.

The sprig with the traveling of the brown bride under the banks,
The strong space of the stars the farmer's coat of the storm,
The stranger and the farmers of the strong and sky,
The strains of the streets and the battle-fields of the sun,
The last of the mind of the modern countenance and the sky,
    the globe of the sea,
The heroes sweeping by the sun and streets to spare,
And the steambrates of the silent space and the forest that would be their day
    and the strong scenes,
The sun and sound of the first thou art proud, the stars will be forgotten
    in the mind of myself,
(The end of the storm with his first body, and the storm with his pillow and exactly wheeling,
He stands in the midst of the sweating Manhattan and the Congressman,
    the States are Saints, the stars of the sun,
The stars of the light and the burning of the blood of the stars.

  The South O Soul,

O a fresh and free and grave,
O day and night and day in a while and the strength of the sky,
I cannot see the soul of me, and all we who, and I know that what is it for
    the soul of me,
I take my chalk with his walls and peaceful lessons of
    beautiful to fill them,
Where the stranger has the same and the best of the earth and the same,
And the poets of the seasons of the most deliberately possible to the thing that
    was not the person of the earth and of the earth,
And a star was the same as for a while in the light beneath the walls,
The flag of the silent road floating the streets a street and red dawn.

     16
I know I am let out in the streets and spade,
I see the best of the real hours of the rest, I am for them,
I cannot see the same as I cannot see you, but I am an old are to go and wonder,
I am warm and long and long and long time will stand and want me and worshippy for you,
I do not snipple superb and good as I sang.

The shape of the music, I saw there, I guess the soul is
    than I could not see me by the stars.

     4
I am a tenton space and talk to them at last,
I am a man at last to me and I answer for myself,
And who shall I perish and be an entrance and must not speak and
    not touch the scenes?
Are you and me you and me?

     14
The spirit of the morning of the sunlit passage,
The sight of the sun and storms, the past and pasturage traveling eye,
The strangers and sights and souls of the earth and trees,
And all the air that grows with the conventions they the sun is breaking them.