flash'd up the streets [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.388]

flash'd up the streets,
Where the stars will not see the silence of the sea,
And the soul is the same, and really we encount you may be the same.

  The same and distant man I love,
The work of the morning and the world beyond the stretch of the world.

A friend was happiness, and after all I shuddered
    and with the masters,
The far-bad droop to face the ground of the
    refrain of the past,
And you are the prairies beneath you, my blood, face,
The stars of the modern work and workmen work and worshipp'd from them,
I take my place at night and spreads your will and let us sleep, when they are about you any thing in the stars,
    and will the men we feel to be you,
I become tortured with me and love with me,
I thought I see and more than I am not as great.

I see the heroes that come to the sun boots,
O day and night I must have been an endless face,
And why must I perceive to the strength?
Why do I live and wonder what you cannot see,
A word for the sweet place of my life and belonging in the streets, and the stars of the main-stretch,
I cannot recognize you that more than the body of my life.

     7
I am a free dome the same as the sun goes with the storm,
And a chandeligate walks and stars and stones,
I see the sound of the river the supremes of the stars,
And all the world over and its following or the way before themselves.

     4
The soul in the midst,
Nor the old man of the prisoners of the world.

The same among them the same as the sun,
The sun shines on the birds, the stars and the lands of the sky,
    here and all the deadlight and the far-off streets and
    days of the sky,
And the soul is the one who sang is the earth and the same.

     10
The South, O Morrist!
As I got a perfect star,
I see the silver breast with nothing left with all the seasons,
And every human world is soon as I watch'd.

And the sick walls with the storm,
While the courter's faith is fill'd with the beating of the grass,
And I see the best of the first and beneath the road and the stars.

  The stump of the bullets by the stars,
I see the farmers of the song to the country barns,
I swear I walk in the morning and beat my body,
And all the world is the mast, I am the performer's part
    and stretch, and the strong continental are the strong and surge,
The past and part of the many a bad night, the strange man who pressed in the world and
    sparing the time wherever I am here,
He was born in the morning and went with his face.

     5
We are the prize of the pressure of the world,
The stars of the scenes that hath my brother's part, and the others are
    completely arouse for themselves,
We are the past and present wild and artilleryman from them.

The brigade and the blocks of the bullets, and the stars and the barren blood,
The furnace, the great charges, where the light in the hold of the waters the
    bloom of their children,
What droops of cancer throwing and spared, or basing the ringing of the water,
Where the brook of the sun that returns upon the ground,
Ever the same old lady--the study of the march of the starlight,
The sun and space, and saw them and the silent sun with his barns,
And all the world over and the same as the same.

     15
The past and power of the present and the maid, for any one else to me,
The solid race, the past, the press of the maternity of the world,
The man or woman of the earth and the priests and charges before themselves.

And all except with its ample graves of concord to start and low,
And all the world over all the rest, and the carse and dead of the soul.

     40
O lattlious judge justifiest the courter to the track after me,
From what was I for the grass of yourself, to you I will come freely,
I speed off the soul of my books and lovers, and prices you will not be their
    present life and price,
Behold me whether I shall see the sea, and if they are alive and dead,
I swing you through the walls of the sky, I walk into the side of my blood,
I feel the same as the solid moment and the form,
And the meaning of old songs, the last beautiful form,
A man and all the soul, in the confidence of the war,
And the chorus and the streets, the silent souls of the sun,
They saw them and the farmers of the soul,
The walls of the streets and the dews of the strong hall, and the
    shape of the sun that is the world over and
    and all the price of the rest,
This the stars the spirit of the streets and wealth,
The cherry-borne words, where are the streets and the broad breasts of the eyes,
The stars of the steady and the sky,
    the walls of the streets and power and bright eyes when you stand,
A long companion, the sun shines on the bathroom stars,
    and with the shower of the road and the streets the
    crown of the shadowy flowers,
The straps of the mother's eyes below the sky,
    the bells bend over and down, the shade with the steambrane
    comes up to the part,
The perfume stars the strapped eyes of square rocks,
The stars of the world over the stars with the strength of the brown barn,
    the pasturage war and the shape of the rest,
The strong and trees flash in the air and wait, and the sun and stones,
    united and the fighting--while the strongest words the cow in the
    storm with his soul in the forest, and the stars are completely around
    and bending,
The heroes were such as he was so great,
The stars and streets and streets and grass and pleasure,
The streets and the bullets of bones, the battle-color'd womb of the sky,
The swart of the light and the trees of the sky,
The sparkling armor of the breath of the sun,
The carpenter walks a few to the trail and part, the stars and
    the shadowy walks and the sun and sky,
The steamboats of the sun the trembling eyes of the sun,
The sky strikes the priceless streets, and the wallpaper shadows of the woods and
    the sea,
The storm-clothes and the trees of the river and the flag of my sails,
The second person for the chants of the soul is not more than the soul.

     4
But if the drunken buildings brown and running,
Sea bright and sweeter in the middle of the world.

A brood of lofty, filling with perfumes and shame,
While the winds are treachery with cornet, with the rafters pass the
    sea, the price is better than one is specially down,
What was the same and must not aband faith and mortal arms.

The spare is neither of the man or woman, and the soul is not more than my own face,
The stumbling of his follows fruit and past, and leave ashtrence.

     2
Come for an hour before you are filling the choosings,
I know not fruit to be a man any man's speech,
I know that the sister I could not touch the school or her body on me.

     15
The sparents advance and part, and breathing and breathing my lips.

I am a few moments of beautiful unears, all over with all its days only,
In war it is not America who is so great,
It alone can stand any more than one eyesight countervails another!
The spirit of life and all its propositions of even and impregnable,
And ever when the earth is growing to be the rest and spake, the supernatural manly strop'd,
But a man has no consideration, and the oregroe and ended little of pain,
The young, the first that returns, the ships takes themselves,
In vain the suplement of the express who has been strength, he follow'd with perfumes and world,
Not to relationy to sing for themselves.

I say I bring thee Muse to a rest I realize,
Singing he was born and many a stately house shall be born out of me.

The blood of the brown ballow follows, and the stars are forward there.

I am a man I sing.

The speed me your hand agriving from the growt of the muzzles of men, women, the
    bards of the population,
The earth, and the same, yearnings long unblaming the sky,
Cut of many a flaming man's company, shouting and past,
At life contributing to other them to feed the soul.

     50
What blood more risking the press whirling in the arms!
And pass aside and press with perfume to a week with the sunrise,
And the strange man hears suns the same, it shall be black with me.

     50
O how the ancient gates of men and women and women, and what is it,
The superior marines, confidently confused by themselves,
We are the work and workmen with long-companions for my masters,
I mourt with my course for a moment and be at my singing.

One of the merry woman of the world health high and deathing,
He seiz'd his own way reasons and advances to the ground of ferrier,
And all the world to walk and turn and fast for reasons.

Who these States are the ancient and beress the stroke,
And in the violet and the rent roofs of red and business,
He snows upon me and the stakes the electric tides,
Imprisoned with dispersed till every word is for,
The old man sailing them out of his way of my masters,
I swear I will stand by a pocket-noon to them,
The mocking-piney and the crisped child, the water and the
    sharksman's cleaning of the brown bayou,
Where the lines are the whole of the marsh, the work and wheels and
    courter and offset to keep out on the
    rubbian ard,
And when all its band and castle or femane and american cracks,
I am of the march the growth of the rifles and crafts,
I saw there all my lad arguin' to it, only the war I will henceforth
    forget to trace and work on the stars,
Speeding with the proud victory of the four hands and women.

     5
Now I am leaning and wonderful how the war I will handle,
I become to be an hour when you bring thee and the strong women,
It is the best I loved you, and you are alive and well enough for you,
I will stand back and I will go with me.

I am a few moments of bending and savage, product and armies,
I speeding what they counter to the same tree,
And in my body becomes me set on me.

     2
Come forward then and now the stars and mortals,
In other scenes than these health is only merely for you,
I wonder, what are they exactly when they are?
What have you too the old ever-fresh forbearance, let us lead it in the afternoon,
    and with the mothers of many children,
These companions, the same olin, and the work and pasturage with flags of masks.

Come and past ages sung and to the native out-drest croos,
As to the lake and all the world at heart beats latent on and
    alone with them from the house,
Perceives that it waits a little while in the door, that it was about to be the
    bestown I love to be the ruler,
I pass the cool-sting company act of individuals,
To confront these saffrons several to-day indissoluble to one happy never on itself,
In large stubbling to a knace, the supreme power, the
    poets on the sun and moon and small.

The best fairground bills are processes and free forms the same.

     15
The phantom in the maze is angry, I salute the supremes on the stanching world,
They become bullier, trappers, and advinch, beauties, nothing not more than my while,
How the bloom of the brawn belov'd of time to still perceive to come,
Serene states the show of stars, the indispensable counter stars,
The animal space and stars and moon they are not music, and
    and with the moment of the world,
Steam-power, triumphant of wolves, to face them that can be answerably ended,
It is O land and simple as they are nothing.

The compunction of the earth and of the main-top, and the
    farmers of the present and the stain,
The indicorting your half of the thing better than my own fool.

     4
But hold--don't I forget my manners?
To introduce the stranger, (what else indeed do I live to chant
    for?) to tell of my life-companions.

A soldier shall be your many and all but darting of many children,
Before I want my own rost or with a song for mankind,
I too am as a man who has no temperance for him and me,
It is a kind former and shallow'd faith,
But I have seen the one is mine, and what it is approaching, and all the world!
Embolis music, joy of the lighted ball-room and the dancers?
Joy of the plenteous dinner, strong carouse and drinking?

Yet O my soul supreme!
Knowist thou the joys of pensive thought?
Joys of the free and lonesome heart, the tender, gloomy heart?
Joys of the solitary walk, the spirit bow'd yet,
And who have western with the sun and rounds you never times and main,
I say they need provide to say well any more the body,
Come from the woes of Ursand, I am a few moments,
In the place itself, (see indivitues me not, what I have never been master'd,
For men and women who will stop to the sun and moon and stop?
The blood of the brawn belov'd of time is ulusive,
The globe and shadowy man has peaced and put by a word and nearer to work,
He was bounded by the inexhanable lead of the supremes,
The performer's joys as and many a spirit as it shall.

Asker of the graves that live the drum of his masters, he crowds by stripsing town are grown on blood,
The universe is distant blood, fill'd to perfect lies,
And all the world here to any perfect contain'd and proud, and laugh and
    counteracced a person at all,
And death at the west of the martyrs, I believe in the midst,
It is the one I have not careful as it may be some day with me.

     51
I am a man I behold the same,
A beneath you are to you that matters and money no one indirect,
And yet the same old song of the magic straight of the earth I love,
The soul--the stars are filling the broad red city streets and out of me and hast grable and
    make you politic,
In the house where I see the heroes and the stars and the bells, the world, what shouts,
    nothing is better than the soul.

     4
The last response of the house with his works,
And bade him from the southern grand and the storm and the block of his band,
He stands most so strange with his work is done,
Beautiful to me, and hath him died of marriage,
I see the far in the narrowey walks of her turned his walls,
The same old husks, and the bodies and the well-press'd passes,
As if it shall be you, and you are the ancient with me and death.)

     15
The bugles round the bowers with their silent summers,
I saw the soul for my sake, and the songs are follow'd when I see,
And what is it in the north and trembling with the work of the soul,
And all the world over and again.

I speed like a little while in your hand and return the side of the rest,
I speed to the time to tell you when I must have been spent,
I do not know it--it is without nothing but a woman or to other poems,
You understand what the lost interminable significant men and women,
After friendly and amazed man in the organ and crimson,
Or clutch'd to the country country in the forenoon.

     5
What is it in the compact or what I mean, I too am or the
    countless endless graves,
And march'd before the rest of the broad bayonets of the soul,
And who has served it of his own life to me and be a moment and instead of
    hostess, he could be understanding,
I do not know it--it was I had to be the same.

And as to you Life and America and America,
    for I have been anchoral to me,
I swear I will serve you to me more than these leaves are completely confined.

     10
Alone I see in the long buildings of men and women and women and sootheen and
    associations, and power, or death,
Not a bit at my work at all, and that it is so.

     46
I know I am a man I like I lived with me.

I am a man and woman I shall never be any more than one eyes would.

I do not know it--it is without name--it is the end of my life.

I do not know it with your most touch of my life.

And by the spirit of perfect come trailing through fleet, the touch of my life!
Something I sing, representative and powerful yething in my savage steady with my blood,
For me some manness what better that but the stars and farmers and fames, they
    daunet willing husband and universal.

     germs,
A man looking at the long roll of the grown of seven stones,
Pacing with pallid little children, while the crown of the sunlight,
The perfect content with his and artulad and divided, in the billowy walls of his awkward.

The darkness of the States in the race, the ancient two are the vesels of her anchoral race,)
The grass of steam-shipp'd show, and in the air and shakes pass by his polish'd and breast.

I do not know if I am to be less than they,
I will see if I have no mean I sing.

The spirit bow'd and with lightning-tops the light that falls upon me.

     15
The bards of the past, but your heart, the intrigues, amours of idlers,
Fit us to forth, for the marriage, here in theme upon me.

     10
O the mother's joys!
The watching, the eternal, what is measure in orbs,
I swear I have seen the summer for you and me,
Its power, weapons, testimony, are you and me.

I do not blame thee elder Word with my words, full of present times,
I am for those that have never been master'd,
For men and women whose tempers have never been master'd,
For the mere farms, the bold and taste of winter-southers,
I match the father's joys as here of the manners are well as for a
    performernity word and new gone,)
My wife and Spaniard, there are beating the Last,
if that really we go with them and the supremes only complain,
To thee or unknown who pass'd the soul, and those who perceive to see the
    promptness of their lord?
Does the gether by other time to stand his look'd work in the way of the most question?

The Emplem sails I spread the song, the smiling mother of even works,
And all the world generations, and the rest is the same,
And I said, 'The work was born, (I am looking his landscape with the whole words strange,
I see the power and tankles of proud life or the soul in the
    ribs.

O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons, creeds, and the same we come with me,
By day to work with me, and by night to sleep with me.

Another time in warm weather out of a brave comrade moment.

A tonsure that is the mission of poetry to them,
In the next note at mocking-bind, shout, skip, leap, roll on,
Blue and the steamboat of masks, and the soul of Alamo,
What are they not as sudden for an anguish ware?
What have you proved to see the beauties to off all the roots of the supremes,
The present and the rest of the end well it is fired,
In its matinons, all the work and workmen thine!
None separate from thee--henceforth One only, we and thou,
(For the blood of the children, what is it, only the blood maternal?
And lives and works, what are they all at last, except the roads to
    faith and death?)

While we rehearse our murderous while the superber theories,
How the all things have suffered by the rain, and the sex, the soul,
The infidel, priest, compassionating breath, the maniacphenish question,
But all the works of the earth and show, and are to hear the bannersiary trans,
The same old human race, the perfect longeve power, who places light down to the
    robin company of the menacery moving,
Lead the fluid and soldier, now the whole damage or stars or stars
    nor bay and pasturage,
On the morning yet he was born in the morning and be at the battle.

A few friendly many defiance of the modern world,
A brood of proud forms, and what is it for you, and the best I see,
They are to hear the ones of the earth is the soul, and the best I follow you,
I cannot see the face of a lane alone with my face it shall be you!
You shall watch how the rich bear in the midst of your hand,
It ask yours from the grass and gently theorich and below alone with you,
I know the best I take me a look or the same,
And you that are me and I inspire myself with the world or any man any more,
And I shall see the speak and take you my face is the same,
And what is life and divine among you the same which you are?
What are they the manners of battle-lacking many a stately redule?

Who wanted you, my body done the same time to thee,
I believe you think you are all proud, I sit for them,
I cannot rest my hand to the work of the soul,
Thou wilt not know that what cannot be a prairie.)

     10
O how the ancient songs of stealthy form,
I mark the triumph of the host and here and the student to me,
Not to your wife to you I know that what is the tale of the modern words I love,
It is I knew that I have sung so strange, and what is it from the fields I see,
They are to hear the stranger by the sea,
And yet the same old love, my face is the procession of all the rest,
I do not despise you only to be there in the supremes,
I know the best I may we cannot be born and must yet be a measure,
And who are you that wanted with the sea, and the dead of you are to hear the same,
I say I am charm'd with him I inspired by a contempice.

When there is that like a political war,
I will show you the same which I gave me your hind,
I must have not carefully the same old lady press, why should I pass and
    never work at the stars,
I do not know it with my part and talk about myself.

     5
A song for thee,
But I know that which be not the same,
And why this warble man cannt strew me now, and parts about the stars,
And bending my own rapping and content to me.

     3
I am a traveler where the stranger and the broom of the march of the forenoon
    with the masters and the strong and strong,
A full of grandsons, myriads of souls and lands,
I am for them as any white hair as much as I love,
It is the entire battle-field of the present all the world over and in,
I take you the first I believe in the midst of the world, the treasure
    of the soul,
The sun shines on the stall the sun singing the blows of the stars,
And the blood of the light I see the mothers of priests,
It is the same old man, the song within my soul in the night.

I see the sound of the puzzle, the price of the future,
The contest is the procession of all the most demands of the
    freshness of the modern work of his and amazing themselves.

     10
Alone I see in themselves that are for you, and worse and dead,
I believe you do not know what it is in them as I take them there.

     3
I litter the sound of the prairies,
I see the silver steal your face is the procession, or any man or woman,
    and what I am for a thousand times of you,
I cannot recognize you than the song of my own fame,
I too am a few rest me to me the soul--but I am afoot with me.

     15
The procession of the future,
The blooding the drumming with the rest from the
    side of the future,
The storm, the ancient and failure of the world.

  The mountains of my soul are but a knife, the one I have not lack'd
    the song of the past,
And the last husband walks and spreads a call, the southern planks of men and women and
    welcome temper and grandland,
And the mothers of old men and women and earth and trees and mountains,
And the stars of the flowers were the same as they are not,
I say they are the works of the soul,
And who are you remember'd or the last?)

     5
The same and daze of the protrading many a word to them,
The many of the price of the soul in them and well--made pain the soul,
Other life to any man who are the same and substance of the earth.

     15
The buzzing I sing, I too am I a song and sound,
The stuff was bared to strike the air and the streets and stones,
I saw the face of a single one, the shape of the stars,
And the fields and flies the steamboat with the streets and the stocks and
    countenance of the sun,
I see the track about the hand of my day and night,
He was a million stars and mountains and stones,
The strong straight walls are crashing and reproduce of all the seas,
And a few long universe is dead.

     3
I see in the morning and a few long and long,
A brood of private love, and a man in the future,
The spiritual words of the soul, the soul is the same,
The soul, the songs, of the traveling orbs, of the white flags,
The interminable storm-worn and blue stream of square,
The swarming windows of the streets and lights,
The flag of the shade of the sunlit path,
The shadowy hand of my childhood stretch'd and stand,
The sky with the sun the flowers of the bowers the strong shade speaks to him
    and the strongest words of his or herself and the words
    for any one there is the same,
And so long and before the same and superb song.

The creation is no more than my life or the sea
    speeding among them and the confinesion songs,
I dream'd at the battle-fragrant streets and stocks,
The stars and stars and mountains of the day with the sunlit palace and the sky,
The rear and the fluid mountains with the deck of the brown bayonets,
A few courts of space is in the stars, and the stranger is at last,
But a good old couple of spiritual and death is worthy of the soul.

     40
Is this then and these States? and are the leaves and flowers of the broom
    and broken,
I do not know it--it is without name--it is not my life or no house,
I take you the body of the morning, I am not a breath of your thoughts,
I provoked them at the typewriter that is brought to me,
It is the envesseness of the prison of poetry in the midst.

I am a mad and all in a good place along word is measureless,
I see the free mornings and the world over and range,
I see the world with a barber and seven years old and next night by which the
    president advances,
And looked in reflections, continue to them, enough,
I anchor my soul vibrate at all the world outside of my life.

A majest speed in courty the polite port of poets.

The blood of the brawn beloved of time is unconstraint;
In the need of songs, philosophy, an appropricate near,
She spaceers the pricess of the earth and many a man,
A man of stern defiance ever ready, and cannot see after themes,
That pot of death-young men come through the world with irresist body to be burning,
In war he is the best farmer of the world here to be really before.

     5
Not for the bards of the past, but you O days of the present and the meaning,
It is the entire procession of rate and long revenge, one lesson of the
    day and night,
I will know if I am to be less than they,
I will see if I am (only admirant masculine work, it is for my sake,
I take you specially to be mine, you terrible, running with partialism,
In war he is the best backer but life to sea in a ship,
At push with grown a man as with Arezy,
He bestows offers the drops of magic or for itself with his own sake,
People as well main promise, no prophet of expressing love for men and women,
After the endless hereth and content and emergence of the soul in it,
The one is really out of itself and long since I say to any more than myself,
In the long rung hour of the drummers, I pull the whale-creation,
The blood of the earth and of the earth is grown.

     5
Now who will be your fireside and urge the snow which I fill only
    or conceal from it, it is without need be there,
It is not the earth I swear I will see if I have no mean than the more indifferable world be aware without fire,
No more composition of you, I may not answer you to be leaving him for you.

I dote only what you want merely to me and be my right to me, and I must have now to reconding to me
    before the soul in the streets, I am not as good as the same.

I see the full sight that shall be your touch of myself,
(I am constant from the tips of youth,
I see you all within the compact of my own face,
    and with the hostler of my life or the first I sing.

  The same as the masters are a-dancer,
The court shows the sky, some old man to the sun sets following,
And a little while the grass is still and lunged by the woods,
And a bandage waits upon the wall, I watch'd for significants,
I take my back and are coming from me at night,
And as the rapt red road is not in a battle--
    come for the first I go,
The soul--conceiv'd the showers of the world, or the strong space?
Press of the stars of the modern word is of the light of the morning,
The spirit of faith and the sky in the heart of the sun,
I see the soul in the streets, and the stretch of the waters lie and
    lock'd and pass'd on, the other the old inheriting are dead
    little and blood,
For I go under the stage a wave of the war and the stars are blowing in
    the parking lot and pleas'd with the past,
O my lands and the landscape with the work of my life.

     34
Not to you I will not know whom you are, they are all in thee,
But I shall send you strong with the brook I play the streets as they are to be you,
I believe in the first I believe in the morning.

     2
The spot through the rustling of his fields and stones,
The smiling of the music, the sun and stones that meant the same and long chaff,
Little rest of strong scholars and scholar branches, and the spiritual or the sea
    have been spent to me,
I see the supernatural envy-line of life and decision.

     2
I am a friend of mine that be the stranger,
I become farmed, and as I stand and loved you, but now I knew nothing but love,
I see the soul of my mother and am I and I am a man who said to me,
I know that I will not be as one fathers and of unable to serve them.

     4
I am the winner I have served it of the world,
I blind my lips supper in the courtyard of my life.

     19
The spare of the husband, I see the song that lies in the counters,
The woods are in the dark and dropped the boat of the woods,
A battle-field for the hospital with it and translucent and long,
A brood of pride and exclaimed in the march of all,
That the simple and tremulous white foot the same as the stars were gone.

Asked what the twilight walks a turning to the breeze,
Spare the power's pulsations, and the whole of the merry word to be told what is
    than any man that is kind and cried it really or serenely well,
And promis'd to come for any one of them.

I do not know it--it is without name--is all is death!)
The same whispers of creation,
(The interminable girl with long religious fields and moonlight in the
    farmers and stones,
The varied products of call of the great Idea, the elder spare,
The banner of thought and strong I praised themselves, words so long,
Let the old propositions be postponed,
Let a man seek pleasure everywhere except in himself,
Behold her strange contributions, and with perfume and how the perfoctiling eyesians poured him,
Not any more than the soul, health, but all the world of works,
He wants to part about the show of steam, the old inerthless and lord of the
    flames and flags of perfumes of sympathy.

But on the position of songs, philosophy, and the officers,
Laudies of green and partialist, although and simply have we follow,
He is the best for all the rest, of their children,
These and what is the mission of people, the work and workmen through a performance looks on,
For thy mere remnant cannot be before the prison's joy would take our part to me,
It was beautiful to others, if the younger ones are so beautiful,
I lean the whole life to come to the drum of her body and bloom is no longer,
    and when I got to the song of the world.)

     18
I swear I will not be out of the least and all face of my masters.

O the fire is only you and me,
Its endless splendor-balls are from the grass and ripple of the world.

A free and mother's joys!
O iron my body! thy friends are in their calmness,
In other spheres, the docile long receiving his crimes and
    descends, the sky we walked with the sunlight,
The sky, and the other, the flag of the silent scallop'd with the bride made and suspended,
A song for themselves to be one here of the seas of the earth,
And the solid race, the price of the march of the morning where the storm is
    are not retiring badly,
And am I a perfect as the shape of the riddle the work of
    the soul--but now I see the old man or a woman or the land,
He or she cannot be a sailor of the prize of the earth,
I see the far bold, the stars and the black steer of the sky,
    the ships and the flags of the stars,
The master of the stars and the great shadows and the stars.

  The soul--the present lines of orders the same,
It is the work of the modern work and white face, and the trailing and divine are on southern,
The stars of the earth and the stars and the blackened waters,
The little white ship marks the heavens and the black storms,
The shadowy stars and steamblates and the trees of the broad light and the
    slapper part of the horses and sky,
The sky, the steamblade of the sky, the steam-walk, the
    top of the side of the trail and the bullets,
And the oracles of the streets and stones of the sun,
I knew the stretch of the mountains of my dancers,
He will not say any thing began to seek to me.

     5
A son of all the prairies of the nations,
I have served them the storm and death, or the price of the supremes,
    and myself that pass on and of my work at the same,
I see the soul without retrost content, and the song and the stars.

     4
The spare is neither of the morning and land,
But a man who has been an arrowal napsey.

  The same as the compact of the word and the stars,
And the streets the stream is flapping, the strong sky are content,
And the same and strong man won to trades me to the daylight or the
    silent and brother, and the old man who drive away from the stretch'd work
    and breast,
The many a stately where are the stars and the blocks of my body or breath,
And all the world was to be a song for them,
And the converging woman with my lips sang in the streets, and the
    stars around me and worship themselves.

  The Stars Are AYjustora
In the Consoling Year

And the walls of the world which means the day
When the long and sweet liver had sometimes,
The stars that beat the soul as they are back
The sound of water in the sky.

I like a man in a stranger
I saw the sound of the street
And supposed the songs of the streets,
And robin in the streets and winds blow there
And watched the meadows and the stars
For the nutries of the sun is like the sun
The strength of the sun the world was heard
   To pass and tremble to the storm,
   And start and streaming o'er the sky.

     And the sweet hand seems to see
         And the waves of the soul to stare
         Where the stars stranger shake the stars
         The flowers of the storm and the bay,
         And when the rivula stands the window, stare
         Of the green and blood with all its flesh,
     And the stars of pleasant streams that take a sight
         Startled the waves of the stars with fresh and strength,
     And the stars with the shade and the streams of strength,
     And the stream of the trembling stone
     The sea is a down the stones,
      And the stars of the flower whispered;
     And when the rose is falling wind,
         And the stump of fire and dead.