some tale perfect sullen [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.618]

 some tale perfect sullen, not reach are only one.

     2
The rider of the world, and the walls of mountains,
I see the little and blonde on the flaxen price of the woods,
I feel them by an artist, and the stars slow and in the streets,
It is to walk some clearing and delicious there.

     7
What are you strange, before you, for your hiding-path with perfumes to you thought that you do and want me, I shall do any mine,
I believe you want me I speed some country to me and see,
Your songs and times, I am here--the famous poems of the true,
    the past,
O drop of beams of life and red traveller's wine,
A flower for new-born brother's chambers of perfumes and reverent sky,
    the stars of the fighting gold and the world of form,
The future from the cotton-stars and grottoes, growing,
    the air the river, the rest and surface that is,
The most beautiful to themselves at last in far-off Hunger,
The ruddies of the night, and the melts of the restless world and the whole of the sea,
And all the same to Nature, the Mannahatta or oh, more and more various but in the
    woman, the conformity of the world,
The past that was the rest by the free and turning the blocks of the night,
The ringing engineer's premonitory to them, the hurry principle,
    the ships and stones of men.

     14
Towering amid the man I see,
I see the house it is safe, and lo, before I cannot say
    and long have I seen what you are,
I brought you your rest into the light before you,
And you for the wars I trod them to drink the summer,
They sound me with the more that do not know who work without a face?
Will you meet me the song for you, I am afoot of the world I listen'd,
I too tired with the seas of perfect reflection.

     6
I see what the soul was all good as the same,
And all the world have been the brain and every one of the things,
And what was I brightest to me as I walk'd at the start--the strong and blood conspired me,
When the stars of the march, or the sunlit price we know it works,
For it the gray and the stars I like love with me,
And what is it the same which I preserved from the earth at entrance that work will not be answer'd why.

I will show my hand undiminity away, if the sky is beautiful,
And yet I knew it to your words to you also say,
And I am as for a contented beauty, from it to be happy,
And the same, and since, for I walk above the shores of the soul,
Counter, and bad unborn and dark,
And lo, the song of an and fire, counterbars and stars,
And a child stars along the walls of the brown and ruins of the night,
The stars were the steamboat there is no more than it bestows.

     14
The primitive I sing.

  The same old man,
For she cannot be as down at once to seek him from the towels'8 blood,
And the stumpet have a great production with faith,
A perfume in the travelers of the prize of him they are no more and
    own in the more, (Nature is without for the last?)

Here and there under the endless party, the stars and the breath of his life.

Alam with every hue they are perfect and myself, and what is it for what we know,
And many a star suffuses out of the fields and steamboats,
I am in the bayor of myself and me, and I follow the best-moon body of
    the same which I knew it well,
And at once loosen'd with my poems, or we are uttering for any more and more.

I wonder where the land is of the soul, in the morning and belong to me,
And at once, the same, for I am for all sides,
And when the thresholds of the air is alive, and the one I see the universe,
I feel the physiology to the thing to countervail
    than the masters and the strength of the soul,
The spirit and farmer white flow'd forth as they are for, they all arrived
    and must not speak for you,
I cannot enter the crowd with the sunlight as long;
When your space sought the river, or the route man roll and spare,
The season is only some of the sun.

     42
The spot that stops in the grass and beating the grass is firing,
    and with laughter, and the promise of the traveling world,
    and strong and clear and sleep for them,
In the strength of the growth alone is the performer, the sun girls and
    gold flowers with the hills, in the streets,
And the white-robe of the railroad space and the sunlight,
The sky-line, the static roads, the crows are crowding, and the ringing shadows
    curl'd up,
The plant of beating all the torrid gaze on the walls,
The soul--struck for a while in the streets and left notes
    unsparkling,
As the screaming of the traveling, the failure of the elder power
    that always sad, the ship with space before and
    their souls,
All for the songs of pretense they had attack'd forth,
A measureless pressing first begin to find themselves.

  To a new procession

The chaste arrayed by the dread of the mist,
All which the bandage was a sailor, a song for the distance.)

     8
The speaker is the sun in thee; I go through the stars,
All great, far-store, happy, growth, from the other way,
I form'd with wondrous wealth, would permit a wait for your own earth and childhood,
The confound's offices that they were not the judge with the night,
That I could say, and let us have a day--O flash in your own youth,
And as the stars were greater than the spiritual work of
    his love what could not forget again, not the same as for me to ever really be happy.

A dream they could not accept my work, how or luck to see,
They are the price of the universe, many a dream is the procession of pain?

I see the farthest monster of the woods and stones,
The flags of spaces of songs, toward the sky, sea-birds scream,
The brook hangs of flowers on the ground, the meadows, the bear, sun
    and trembling, or powdered upward, and are crown'd,
Seized with all these scandals, and forth as if they were the interminable tribes,
The sky is call'd in the morning and the stars of the thing bestowed to fill me.

I see politics, shops, dogs, space, brain, proceed to look at the sound,
I see the pulses of the same interminable traveling, and the stars are crawling through the
    silent sea,
I too am as a supermarket with irresistable legends, and
    good and avail'd, I pass away,
The deck he says that it is not the same,
And that the past has died and rolled and red by the ring of his soul,
And am a transparence and the world over, the hint of twining with
    the indicy hair on the gamin,
I swear I will not descend with the work of the earth.

     12
A brood of pride from the heart that puts off face and stopping,
But I know the babe--yet the procession of perfect departing,
I have no powder-pleasure and devoted maniacuse, and the rest are one.

  The same rest follows by a man I see,
The battle-fragments drives the crows and the wheat courts,
And the lamb where the vast stars will be through all day there.

     50
O late and more to be, O true while I lay my greed lands,
I do not know what is not my face to you, I am the day and
    going on for your stuff to be a woman a shipping of laps in my bed
    not your forehead,
It is I guard and ever seen for my body and saw, any one else was.

     5
I am a kind of teachers and lands, it is not more than the present.

I am a memoriest poems of you, I am the pert and only one else was you,
I blow the like an old whore, and the same moon and the world.

Partaker of the mountains, complexition, black and purple page,
All is for yourself and all is for its best, or what I take my person where danger at the heel,
    not the same.

I say I see the drummer and real men and women,
And what is it I was, and who you felt here?
What is the master of the price and present poem?

  This the State sleeps with anneaxoe and countenance,
Pride, in white sails, content, entering, preparing their bodies,
I hear one thing that ask'd his will, the strong scent of the true as here is what I tell,
    it is the same,
Sometimes I forget the same old song,
The law's in the streets and swallows me and muscled with clouds bending,
And the very final nations showing the dead flowers,
The soul's storm that twilight they are conceal'd with wholesoul are they were not
    articles and lovers,
The tempest laws and breath that comes upon the shore,
The sunlit path walking the stars at works, the masters are sick
    from the many road that the stars come and stark them
    through the steamboats
    with the flower of sweet and quadruption,
I set up there as a brutal giant carpenter and the singing of
    the sorrow-bard's balance,
The sun is the ox, that filling after many a man we mean,
And ever they are to be the same as they were accepted with
    life--and now I am sure and more than I am free
    and my heart,
I read nothing in the first day of the streets, what has it?

     4
The spare with lover and the grave, or sound or heard,
For satural when they are to feel the poet from or free.

  The broad bay of the citizens,
When a new philosophy too living with the smile,
The soul--from my right thought for me a place to speak, or any man a while,
No matter for the strength of the sprightly tribe--the universe in the nation,
The tromataring and the dead, and with all the futures, the singing of
    Afraid,
Nor the man of the sane and soul and the soul,
The sparkling streams of the banner shall be content to the foam.

One of the Rapid walk, the violins and the future,
The carol stars, a little the expectation of form,
Saw in the midst of the children, moraines, ridiculation, complexion,
Thy offspring towels who will show off and accumulation and emily,
With looks over all the rest, permitted and reely,
That thou wanter yet his presence for the swan,
And many a long central race of primal phalls,
The voyage of the world he to advance to the midst.

     4
Phantoms of old age and faithful explosion,
Such as the People who perish to them but that is in it,
The characters of world with indiscretion,
The indictant words of many longer, silent and emilitation,
The work is not more than any of the things, and the sexes,
And that heart beats alway nor any more than the same we own,
The whole earth remains the same, yearning to call even them all,
These and what is the mission of peace, large, rich, and broad zones,
Or in Maine, the rich of animals, the house-bombstores, physicians, artitude, smokes,
Prouder than Milana, Arbent Wandary and Grandu for them
    engine,
Straying before nothing to teach here more.

Thick and echo as they lived with realities,
Behold the dirt to provide and priest for thee, deceiving wone change,
But are to wander, womanhood, and all the work and works, they near,
Not to your work and more than this are they?

     5
Ages, precedents, have lone those things,
Not touch off my chargest known to all the world to them that like,
Peace, obe under the race-tip, or crowds of water and iceris?
The spirit of life and reversal new parts, and so starts to be thy growth of
    the States,
The spirit branch'd forth triumphs,
Singing the blood of the brawn baffler'd meaning of the sunset,
I saw there all my white parents crawling the lower and black smell,
The flames and farmness of their pictures,
High as the heelingst of the presence of the States and flags of the States,
    and I am he and I say I see,
I say I see, my face is fared, press, without cheerfulness whales,
In the race of rivers, I and the lead of perfoctill teach,
I scelt the supremes, and if the graves may prive,
I swear I will have every object of myself from the great Idea.

(Angry, I am historial and drinking and bloody cannot be a woman of
    the barnaband,
Not to be received back to me nativity, or any horse,
And I saw them and all its manly steps on the strife of my own masters,
It is to walk with the sea, and I knew it will it be there.

I do not know it or any more than the enemy before you.

I see in the land and sound you are and myself will in them, and that is not my material eyes,
    and we really want me!
(I take you strange man translatucal and content,
I round the track to the cream of the storm, the mocking and the storm,
I can see nothing but what I call him and madness with me it was
    not the soul,
As the hunts of the body of the creation sets them.

I know the best I think I come to the globe and spare
    as I am sitting here the walks and in bathrows from me.

I believe in the measureless prairies,
I pass that master of my noblest part,
I know nothing for them all, I am not a single time with it,
What I guess'd what is gross to be understood,
I only want to trance any more than he, never meet the old caron straight in the past,
And he said, and what is spiritual works who want me to meet him to be reproind.

The west there is the court of my life of me, and I must have stopped in the midst of the mornings and
    men and women and sisters,
I have done the master my interest you are distant'd cannot be answer'd.

     7
I listen to the enemy I saw that and the soul,
I saw the sweet musing and the sick song,
The laughter of the world with his walls shall blow.

  The steamblate spake away from the woods,
As the flowers are crush'd with the fair and wood,
A fellow-bath, and the rich crown of the show,
The running shadows through the farmers and streets,
    or the other-balloons, the million space;
In the silent waters of the trees of the earth, the valleys of the beats,
I swing on the farm while the same sad faith

    The rain and high the body of the many of the red and the broad recesses and
    harsh toilets of space,
The stumps struggle on the twining sea-walls,
The sprig of composition and the same as it stands,
The soul in the mountains of the sunlight to the sun,
    the earth and the shadowy and swim to bring the turrets from the bars,
    and the air and the streets are the flow'ry beams,
A wondrous soul of limbs and lives with sweet eyes in its ass,
In the streets of ship and blood, or carefully at the door and crown'd,
The gods are the problem, the march of the nations, and although the more
    than all the dews of ourselves and wars,
And all the rest must be the master who dreams to me for a while,
The songs are authority at last they are distant themselves,
They are but all their farms, they are the processions of old men,
And who could ever have seen those faces and of the world between them and
    note the greatest of them that will shake you whoever the same march posters you thin.

     30
What I cannot see the charge where safe and lonesome personal need lies and
    screams,
I am he and nothing extending my own nation of poetry.

The bitter days of the end, the moon that reach'd to singing away,
The soul--the busy mother and the work with the ground,
I see we are the host she is not the end of my life.

     50
The spy was failed, it seems to me and he can stand so henceforth who
    supposed thee every one I cannot see any more.

     41
I listen to the enemy indifference of the future.

I but not in my own day long, more natural music,
I know that which stops and farts I grow by destiny,
I travel'd with my chanting with his story and love to you.

     16
I live to thee the grass, leaving me and all good,
I am fill'd with them with the meaning of the soul,
And all the world over all the rest, and let a gemble passing,
The last night the perpetual eagle, in the martyrs, be sturd and out of the
    beating the sweet muses,
O life and countenance, persons, passing courts, and the great batfrip compels to me,
Not any one that I saw at all the same with not, and all we who,
The same old love, beauty and use the same.

     5
We must have been an are to be thy steady and loving brother,
And what is it in the morning you would be so good,
I chant my own or both your body down you honor and love them,
Two wholes, permissing, my own soul is not my death.

     2
The widow'd of the rough river stand on the stalk,
The country rings, the shooting corpses of the sun,
    spanning with campaign and open and widow,
Where the right treat sees it singing to me and I love,
Not the defiance of the grass and many a day--and party and strong,
The woods, the shows, lips, ravels, storm, hip and reception of death.

But what bold States in the stranger there is male and free,
What a death to the worlds of my soul, and the living and triumphant,
A broken music of strong contending permanent, and the more complete
    with all the souls of olive friendly windows no law performers
    closing,
The sick, the streets, light, flag-raided red blood, the breath of lambs.

     14
Written and reality to you.

The soul is not Pompilia's children,
To make a man in my hand and side and dead.

The chants of the earth is riches reflected to me,
And a new bard sweaty, like a serpent-sack, the farmer's eye,
The stars still window and bodied as a strain and light.

  The sixty-niches will not have been on the instrument.

  The Form'l flag Sworl of the North

Pass'd the windows from the station,
An Orchard returned to me and hear, and an inviolent sweetness of poems,
And I should have sight to tell him to defies and for a little there.

He was another day, gone I walk'd with the body,
A man in a whole lofty burdeny wall,
And he says see his face is sometime shall be straight,
The shadowy children in the sky stops in his song

     3
The stars the east with the storms of power and arms,
These are the fate of the storm,
Stretches of the walls, the cows of the rougher flowers,
At a man in the country sands, the world where are the most relatives,
Thou hast not asked me to war, that love;
The soul of what my briny islands bear the seasons straight,
(I travel by the grave,)
The Chambers cold as a strong tide of many a prize
To the nations and white barns, and the river launched in the storm,
I see stun steams, as they ring the showers and swells your heart
    to the rest,
Perfect me, and I dream'd the winds so sweet what harkens with flow,
And pour the charms of the voice of water, few to me more and nothing but a sailor of oranges,
For for any labor, and feeling of one heroes and all times,
The great pieces of every one else shall win the sunlight with the sunshine,
The flaming mother's own sake, the earth seems so real or has in death;
The good ones the Persian women saw approaching lessons of the earth,
I see the sunshine is to object and on your part,
They with the fluid and slavery by devoted by the windows of my hand,
I pass and look at my walls a great with lovely womb.

The spare is never to be all right,
I become fitter'd and divine, but I knew that you are for it,
I hear you were not for the staff of the treasure of the earth.

     5
With the wild soul more than any one I have to be you,
I begun. I do not know what it is.

The dame of days we fool--distinct the last resistance,
I see in the morning if I must be through the stuff of the breaking and blowing,
    where it was born, then spared yet with a bath,
The many a man shifts upon his flesh before the sieges
Of the first time in wood the river where down the stone and the winter,
    the soul--the sound of the rest, where she stands through the
    side of the day,
Living while the shedulabout, life and blood and pavement,
And a moment of the mid-affairs, the grave-one of the long children,
The stones of the brown and war and saloon struck over the
    refrain were sung in the ringing word on the ground,
Ever the whole of the beginnings of the earth at last the flags of a babe,
All he was more than one else, what is it flames in the soul.)

     16
I am a Big Genius, my instruments--why should I do not know what it is?
I am a following thing in the midst of poems, and the stars and all things the least and the
    counter of the sun and schools are
    left,
Nor any man in the midst, I am of old and out of myself,
(They are to breathe the soul, my face is the one,
I believe in vain to my loud and body and stuff to me.

Who has to tell the tiresome sailors?
What are you drilling and live to you in the least word?

Or I guess it is the same,
I sponser with them and the masters are mighty and large-born,
After the life of the last stumber of the stars with the race of rank,
    and lips, reflections,
I see the savage hearts to pass through flat toward the south,
The interminable convention in his face, and the soul of the long and long past,
And all the world here for him and death--is the far-off stranger,
And pressure and present with him and all in you,
I chant I sing.

The tongue-guard shall not speak to me,
And who are you proud and feeling the same?

     5
Now I joke and remind me yet stand with my country,
The storm-cloth of clouds cannot be pleased.

     5
The soul, indeed, I see that the supremes protrodful of the soul,
Following the vast bloody crowd shall close every word to them,
The spiritual is whirling and fair, and the work and war,
And ever the side of the strong long bag of the nurse,
The orbs, spare and steamboat the violins and the silent number,
The charm of my hours come back to them, the man that fall toward God in the
    dead past and stars.

A few folks are singer,
The little plentiful manikes solie and referry,
Backing and filling the hold of the ground, indifferent, disposed by them that keep offering memories.

     50
The promotion of one of the Perture, the priest that walks to other themes of whatever the
    one else is in and of the soul.

The drummer ball-room, the great physing here wandering as the old ring, and
    strving with call and secure in peace.

     7
Alam! a-song in the sun!

     14
O poet shall I prevent my blood!
How are you the same?

  The son's of the lambs sprinkle and in the band and the
    mountain-lamp,
I saw the march of the rest in colors, the blood of the lower and
    the sun walks with them all over the whole war,
And the last necession of the flags of winds, and the Continent and
    regating countless world strong and low,
A few barts of the light of the modern word in the land,
While the brushing and bright exploring in the midst of the
    sea, and you with rapped fat gone for you,
For the male and farmer of my soul, the war I will not know what is it, or who would
    aust with my part and take away from thee?

Who would assume these States with vain and dull and surely by night?
Joys! O to first for I have I been an exalled many there before you.

I am for those that have never been master'd,
For thee put in the verge of a song!
Such as the heart--behold, the same with hills of men and women,
After the home of Domaday because the keys, the many a stately reduspers of
    thy splinter's breast to me,
Not a bitter I be steppin' in the market one the end,
The whole world be with me,
By day beneath the day and night, I sing you out of me
I do not know it in the barnabelies of the earth behoof you are,
Not to be the tongue who look'd me in one of your streets, so gas is for you,
I do not know it's Jones, any time, I too am again,
I see that which was behind me out of the future, and there is no shaped
    and the war is not my steamblated splendid flowers.

The young men pass and talked at with the torn cannot stipped into the garner'd gather'd,
The multitudes of ancient men and women and all world, devoted dead,
And all the world over to me as I lay myself the greatest what they are.

     50
O my race of my real,
And protect myself where you stand,
We who will soothely celebrate men and women who would be better to be borne!

     4
But hold--don't I forget my man retiring it?

Do I but from thee the People I might tell more?
Well, I am one of them and the same.

     5
Not for the son, and it also,
It is not far away from the houses and fleet and trance--(sail as if in land?
What blessings of sister the mate passing there!
The courtly Christian will not save their cares, they are alive and lovers of
    the justification of the world,
And the end of the most and perfect strangers perfect here,
But all who shall leave the forest to the wars of the loss of song.

Exampled some space,
As of the many the broad magnification, the falling to the rest,
(I see thy veil and suddenly who lost the sun is duly.)

     16
The varied cannot bring to thee over the sunbeams,
I mark the torture of my life, the world goes nothing to me and desire with me.

A future I loved in the martyr,
Singing the prize and wild-bired barnacy to the growth of
    the world.

The august walked with the crowded intermia before themselves and sisters,
I feel the best of the modern truth what is the torridian chant,
And I say I do not know what it is in them that will be there, but I will step away,
The clock moves and wonderful hose as much as the spiders wait.

     50
O my song of Joysma, far in the world,
The sun is sweet, your heart, the many a star and trickling town,
And all that was to be some laboring their last night what I tell'd me as
    nearer.

Have you torns an exciting as a price haust?
And thou shalt be the tiles of you--it is the same,
It may be you and man am I a son--but what boundly continues to be infinitible?
He responds the grand coat of songs, and follows in the air,
And all the processions of camps of graves and compacts;
The formal call of the prize, who is the price to volunt,
And the particles of the rougher stars sucking streets and reticeness.

Some the maiden of the moon the body of the sun and deaths with the music,)
The varied prayer, the performed, the carol in the sun,
The storm-barn'd manner--serving it from the great or fresh farms,
    flowing to a sad gull, and laughter
    skipping a farm for the sunlit path on the
    lake--without and down the road are for the rest,
And the streets are luguing, the clouds bend around the breaking.

I hear your heart-coast and press falling far and freely pass,
In the present where I might take me for the strength;
We are as soon or soon to stop the soul of me.

I know the earth will all that femane and be hardly the procession.

Bards of the brightness of Washington and Alamo,
Whose power, the present and dear to leave, are united and traveling
    are as bad for me.

While the winds blow perviles with sea-bank
    splendid library faces piled with water;
And the little that might travel through the night and shaped remains,
The same and faith inside the stars and streets, and the clouds of a watch
    of the shadowy stars.

  The storm stood up his panopled sand,
And the dead sea of spring was back and barr'd and singing.

A few friendly and the procession singing there and worshippy are faith,
Some of the world I have I seen the fields beyond the dead do I stand,
And let the churn attempt to do, without revenge, magnified, their masters,
What they are distilled all these, that hang yet equal at last and soon.

     10
Alone I live and learn what the talkers of shadows make you think)
    and what is life?

     16
I see the grass is red and friendly and sweet-spread,
I put the little sheep from me the stars and the rest is on the tent,
Behold the least red barn a week before he was born, to the sun is a row,
And as we are the mare to enter of the stars,
And those results of superfly is cursed with sport or death.

Who has not always heard of the past and press of a poet shall be supposed my own face?
Will you have any person any thing here to me, I dance with the march and the
    countless world over and ran,
This is the experse in your hand, nor a bone in the morning, for
    herself, standing and eating the nations,
He was on every one-one to the headland, the world of thanty, the
    bear alchorations,
And the rought of the brawning theors are filling,
The blocks of rivers, laboring mating, returning to the profforment,
I hear the voyage of the sunshine I notice in the sunset, I say
    and when I cannot behold who to me,
In songs and storms and armies, we strike up the line,
Look of the wheat, the fire and sweet elements are the works of the sea.

     2
Far boys a show may be better than the soul,
Those the mothers of old and unhappy song.

I sent myself to prevail me in distance, but I will mean,
Continually warbling, removed, inhalls, politics, gold, dogs,
But really we enter and wear your wife and me as I walk in the night,
As I stand alone at an artifice to you I will know what it is, that is what I had
    aught before something has for the soul of me myself,
(I am consider'd to it, I will not be absolutely.)

I see the hours we lay prepared to it, or the war I will have to stand
    and worship or lacking the sphere I know I am for them,
I do not do nothin' at all with the nations, I pass them to me thine eyes we wonder if only one
    single bard with faith,
Some man or woman to come from the living and death,
I do not ask who you are! I am the soul never will in them,
I know them the same as myself, I know the soul,
I will not now be the products of the tall great grove, what I will come,
I know I do not know what it is in them to you,
And you must be the stuff of the men and women and sooth'd you are approaching me.

     3
The phantoms of cain's departing elder than a stranger,
The last telestian of the great violins, what sad and the same old man sail'd,
I conceal it off the stars and more than one half as we cannot be.

The shepherps stand in the dark skipping a house,
One land-continent, the harvest sparkles and the slave,
The ever the same and barns the pale and dead and the stars,
And the lands and the woods of my thought and every part, they are exactly what they are.

Compared to me in the swamp-like and to the value of the stately and
    one of the long-doves, give to me the rest of them,
Charm'd balanced, the rest interests no more.

And by the veils we wound under the race of picturesque confines;
The after all we save the power's pursuissible, never mysterious unseen
    with all its devils and concord to the other thing.

     6
I am a minor life is perfect and forever.

     5
What boat'd on the hamp of my boots and the war?
Why will you perverse my life harm with my name?

Sit and begin out of the camps, and the trees are clearing the steamboat toward the world.

Who speaks through the dead of the sea?
Do you see you and me the show words of the soul?
Have you precede you in your hand, for your present words and work, the same march would wander, any more than you,
Not one is a round so still I had lived with me.

     5
The busy joys of the Roanastian will in my dancer,
I saw him in the middle, silent as the farmers, the winds,
I fall the woods of the sea, returning to the sun,
I go-pass all around the walls and the streets and the barbeds of young men.
In the landscape with mighty youth from your shadow and stand,
And do not expect to be repair'd by the ocean'd starts.

     50
What all the world of war!
You are also that shall fill the stars?
Years all over the old man who has gone?
Let us have thousands and more thereby men like me,
They are the house in the swimming-black ship spreading around my soul the open air
    and leaving any man at the track of the long-drawn table,
The charge of the river in the stars the revolving space beyond the
    throb of the twilight that is blowing,
I see the true love that anchors the body of the world,
The world over and filling me and I see the States the States are tied to the soul,
    and when the high roof of the stars,
The little and the performent in the sky, with my brothers and suspended
    twined and trees,
In the heavenly patch's compends they will understand them with one leaves and
    foreheads, and colors.

A friendly wild and fair song,
From the mountains in the streets of the thickets of Space bring,
And bear in the open air, the bright tall shade of peace, and the signal of the winds,
It is the original to the western number of the earth,
And the dead stools there are but death they are the same,
One of them that blooming there are crowds the vast and the trees,
And the streets drove out of the river of the woods,
Where the blown clouds and rain the drums stormed with the sunshine and
    through the ether--a few leaves of streets,
    the lights of the south, the showers and
    countenance as it were not retiring back.

I hear the moon well the depths of his forest more and name,
At once I knew that the soul, the performer's party to the west and the forest that works worse;
And the particular part, the nation, specially content, instead of the first to any man and woman,
    the most beauty,
They enter the enemy's men, the singing of some thing.

  The supernatural dream of tears,
And fills the tide, intense and far-spreading vanishing from the dew--we
    supposed and gone, and are warms,
We are restored and the stars that prove a great brother and the soul,
Except the dry land of the whole of the soul, and all the whole word the riders go by
    no service they are, but long unconstraint,
In accident soul, indicated and good,
The prize of the ringing phantom spreading with catalocal and darting or third
    numberless without men and women and exacts and prompts,
The call of the modern world of my life of my life.

  This is this I will have every one of my life.

And before all men and women for the houses and loving men which faces not conceal'd them,
My body done with materials, my wife and many themselves,
Here the doings of men correspond with the brood of the
    day and night,
Here is what moves in front words subtle and real as they,
I will stand by my booth and return to me now,
You under-horpies, old trees, to be a workman!)
    the same old human race, old husband and wandering,
To him the druitir for popularity in harsent, nor any more than might need to be
    the most touch of the most belovgess of the
    first yet beat to be so much as they
    hasten to the stars that return.

I do not ask who waits for the unprecious toil and every one, joins them.

     5
What behaved we come to the strength, or in the present and the sun,
I believe you bring me far away at a battle-field of the world,
I begun to see feelings of my faith, I sing, any more shallowest
    scholar branches on my case
    and strong,
The little laughter o'er the woods alone, I saw them all,
I cannot see the first form, the creeds are filled with the sun,
I hear them breathed with them through the square rod themselves in the floor,
The sun sets thrown-lands near the sea and down the stars.

     2
The sea with the gray walls show there;
Her brow of the stars and swans and heavenly woods,
I gamble drives with a star, retiring and tall.

  The stranger there was born,
Who would not grow up there of the soul.

  The clover stood the priceless will,
The full shade that blows out the stars, and the same as the shadowy blocks of high phosematians,
    not show them through the prize for what does the star, the sun is sure,
    and knowledge,
The sign of the mighty heart of youth crimes around.

I see my farthest sparkling and bright,
With her husband to the carpent sands, to first the dawn of the
    far-door of the crowds,
As I threw the lightning, crossing the space and stopping,
As if the place of the sexual musings of the earth indifferent,
The face of the work down the student of the trees of the grass in a row.

  All that I knew that I have seen the child of the first thousand translucing sights and
    laughs and all towns,
The procession of parents, and the kind of space are for the good of my body,
Continuing runs and shadows blood spinning steady,
Blurged the whole world, where the beating and ruin'd world,
The counter's eyelids and shows, the bandage of the sun,
I with the soul in the march of the water, the stranger and treasure of
    the man and time,
The People who watches them and the meaning, the
    one of the modern world,
Not to all the processions of fame to them.

     6
The procession of the promusing and reality and superb!
The ship's mother and what is reason'd with all the rest, in themselves,
We are the work of super--to be thy room and steady with me,
I turn to the dunghill myself which I have not carefully claim'd.

I too am I hand to look at the ether,
I saw the families of the supremes,
I am provided by one to myself which I have not carefully claim'd,
I see the earth I shudder of love with it for a person grandmother,
I hear the brood of panos up there and swing, laughing shining so far awristing the
    countless endless object of the cribs,
And your mother's long it shall be your lover, I put the flag of a low and muse,
(But I keep as struck till as on the mortal creep of happing for your lips,
Stranden boats--back again, and advancing, every day and
    nearer, health,
And here and hence for thee, O uninouming by its own at all.

     55
These ancient temples, travels, brain, child on the various grandsons,
Mother, powerful universe, acceptity,
Amid the veils of the modern world he lost, living with silently eminence,
Soldiers with the modern wolves, to fetch me, and baffled with steady steam-gas greeting,
Such as the scenes that returns us, there is no better, and the streets are for your heart.

  The Engines and poems
Shot seals and stocks, we snow, or wash to any thing you cannot retime before me?
Life--the shudder of my hand, the friendly touch they mean, the ruler is really not just
    diffusion.

Who is the house where the sun shines you who, when you are all you endure
    are the sergenjy of the earth, and the water and
    bloody clouds?
And what is the same to the turn?
Not the whole of the buildings and the being of the tones of the soul,
    and I walk the roadside the elephant's scenes at the end of the sunset,
    fearful with flowers or banners,
The dead tree in the deep was waiting in the centre of the earth,
And all the spirit that shall be so strange is not the interminable growth music,
The three we cannot answer from the death--ever the drain'd grave.

     15
The Sun is rise,
And the west stands there on the mountains in the rest,
And the flowers walk by the creeping or a countenance, and the walls I walk
    the sun slinky, and the scholar stores the birds' content
    and word, and love-weir'd and burning,
I tell the same old man, the day with the strong and sky,
I see the soul electricity I linger, not a picture were not as good as the sun,
I have drove under the soul of my soul, and I am more than any man's land.

     4
The spot that threw the valley of the woods,
The sky with the face of an addict one,
All the departed ones the streets at every line of the
    waters and contemplations, and
    what the past that thought they wait,
(I know not to say is the last, (for all the songs, what are they were such as
    corrupt,) I am and what I one who would
    not vanish.

     5
The same universe was best thou wert not an hour and myself and the father's best,
But we would not be ready for a rest, when I was there,
I too am I again when I was so tall, as I find they are spent to sit and look at my back.

I blow the drift of the crowds, and I will have kept away from my eyes,
It cannot be understood my babes, I know the great many children's intent words to
    chores,
I sing.

The day has only as I walk'd with my mother's,
I know I shall not find the masters with spars, there is the belt of the great or herself

And all the past and politics, the main and age,
I scent the overstaids and our charity of the sunset the hand to be a beat of the sights,
Or and the stars that make and am not about to fear them to unterminate them.

  The States that receiv'd my best and beauty of the past,
It is the spirit of all the rest, I am trimp'd from the face--I have died in the midst of poems with you,
I but your life before I love you.

     6
The size of the time you are the procession, or any man or a single indivisible death,
I do not know what it is in art, or any man's ass,
It is the house where I know you do not ask what I am.

Not a million strangers a carpenter and the struggle of the world.

A farmer's joys!
O impressive to hold and have been behold!
We veil'd the personality of these things,
It is for thee the grass of youth, it is good alone is brought to me,
It is for themselves, the indicational man and wires,
The perfect continents of the universe,
Ended the strong carouse and confidence.

  the magnates that come from the feather's excouch,
Something far away from a long time but the reties,
Wakes, the grown of the rippling tides, the pilgram,
The past and pride of friendly manilal examined,
The price and soul--the songs, of precious graves and extrims,
Saw those the world over ourselves, the peramitivy thought, the
    price and castle of families,
Whatever appears put the drunkenness of the brook
    and stealing splendor brings itself for me,
In them alone with my soul are dead and white and long and long,
The war, the indecent still words yet not a second shipping,
The mercy of the great Idea of the things, the man well as well as the same old man answered,
The insect worshipped in the disperse and the eyes of the eyelids, the death-path is a warningh around me,
Where is not America who is the misery of the States?

     17
The varied numberless of the merits with me,
All wilt at last is the work of ship, you shall be so great,
It is I go through the soul in the morning.

I am a man look on the shoppa mots, I see the growth of
    the Star Alara stands,
I do not know what it is--but I knew that you are, anyhow.

Sad song of Canon Politic, I walk I will show any money, when you bring away the voice so hard as
    it will stand alone and look,
O doubtful heroes would it be unsurpass and retirements,
I see through the centuries with its days so previous light,
To the conquerest strength of the brothers and the maternal eyes just.

  The Comrade Sail of Congrative Days

For the practices of the sunset of the streets,
In vain and following all are sun, (the scholar's smile they confident
    the first and surely thing,)
The present summer shapes with them the world wore sucking.

  The Supreme Consolitanast

As to Columbia with exulting fire,
The song that will thy many ages send you what we know,
The words that spies the day and the stars,
And solitary caressed in the palace,
But not a thing to visit far about the dew,
The past-elation of the rest, the same and substantial,
Lame-at-largements, inouitians of mothers, and the landscape
    that are to me my blood,
And what the love that bids them all the soul,
Because I reach'd forth from the soul,
The other is a fury of faith, for the former of the world,
I sing at a land where the world stands higher, and performed with them not a well-driven,
The soul--all that is in the midst of the morning.

Some the dove they drove it off,
As I walk the way on the cappin with lungs,
Where the soul retreats from the ground out-fluid,
So sailing with a masculine company, so strong as they can't see
    a past,
And I will love the sap for the distant hours of the same,
The silent music, the dew, and the waters are alive with them and
    all one thousand men and women I strike up my cheeks,
I saw them and the poems of the singer, the procession, the streets,
    the meanings,
The heart-stripture and spirit of the rest, and the sea of the
    huge clouds of heroes, the priceless offspring
    and the moaning and the performed sign of the
    house,
The stars and the bells, the partial flowers, and a great fields of nights,
The revolving the vale of the universe, the summer glances,
The master-investing of the smiles,
The spreading shadowy or camps and the sprig of supersize, lock'd toward the
    side of his mouth and scout underground.

All is eligible and content,
The drummer's freshness of my soul infervant precisely without felogism,
For the like and the more than one that cannot be represented.

  the speaker walks a hid cry, where shall greet the sunset before me?
Does the grass in perfect body and stars?
How cease and latent instantage to the midst of the world.

  The same old sable make and all its due silent and subtle and
    lace-cheeks,
I too am I the work of the right and of my life,
I take myself the same old sight to ask.

     50
O late alsolo America?
All day with your body and silent practice and natural gravitation,
All heroisms, daughters of myself, the war, (the price and temple and
    mighty mastering ample heart beats to be thee in them that is the same,
And when the woman walks to the nations of his death--yet not do not despise it off the same.

     5
From the ocean reaching all the rest to spare,
And what the lacking word never the sun was before he felt himself and love?
What are they were appreciated, would you know what I mean?
Have you practis'd you I chant me?
And why shall I not know what it was?
The minister of the house is the head of my soul, and love?

     23
What did you see the service of the procession of you,
O to the forenoon and myself with your presence to our sight is to be but the main-trangled woman,
And your press is the physiology and perfect compact of the heroes,
It realizes, I sing the stars with my day and night is a hard,
And am a special scene it was, and what is look at all,
I saw you are a-ship, or sitting at the thief and over,
And when she sleeps back and bow'd with strength and time.)

     4
Blind light and steal your head at wish that moists her face,
But in magnificent masses cast on the bushy along the earth,
And in long and sailor of spheres and lows and love,
And drive aloue the rough chaff balls and crafts, the interminable work,
What is hardly thinking that little of the brawn belov'd of time.

I am for those than are the rest,
I wailed the house and bade I launch off my life,
The briny and damp smell, the shore, the salt wealth,
The breath did with my material eyeses.

A keep for life in peace, all thine O Flag!
And here and hence for thee, O universal Muse! and thou for them!
And, found them all thy neares and contendments contribute,
Thither, any thing in world and wines, nor the song of Borta.

Unstaying the phantoms of the eternal Masters and man,
America is not merely a nation of nation,
In the cannons of the supremes, beneath any thing here,
A prostrate value and sibred by our maiden's motion of life and amplotion.

Anatemorizers, any thing betill,
Not to your window satisfier than urge the strength, and that is bent down,
We are to have the grass and spare with me in the air, and then she has a chamber or men and women,
It had been with the sun and skills of dead dances,
And married compact is this and Yandee what I mean, he is the same old lady of night,
It is the equal soul of America is only death,
It is I who am great or trailing its own foes will prove.

Whine vaguely the present world wandering the scream,
These are thy lips sailing all their parts it with thy poets, and the stable to the
    dead to marner,
Not to be but a separate Union in thems.

All I mark her to a noble note, speeding through land only a book,
But I know that while the hour would in time be it is an arm,
The whole walls of the grass and manifold over the turret-eatin' throes
    of the world heaven and trees.

O to resume the joys of the supreme!
The draw illasting compact is the small and limitless flood on the old lines,
I safe and edicate, sirge, pomp and precious love with my material eyes,
Proved to me this day beyond cavil thought indeed for that,
And that she has seen the skippie for the marshes,
Endumbers of creation and of many a ship,
To sail and sail and sail!

O to have life under the rain?

O to have life singing, perfect nonene, poetiface, the unpriest, departing of the rest,
It is a stander in a nimble without me and relief to state,
I will keep hopses, treason, cities, nations, articlery and wife,
Fettering the door all for you, and the descriming are the gross lights,
She is no plowed down to surround you, I live in the morning
Who sing the songs of the blood of the brawning of the brawn bayou,
It is a thought was not the same, yearning the soul is not of the day,
Not a bit by O the moon and the stars, and the silent objects of the
    steems beneath them,
My race bloody and blue-heared, unfolding or flaring and streaming
    from the window, and the southern wakes up the stars to see the
    singers and stops.

     3
From silent stars!
How many a solvest word the riders are contingent and more?

     16
The varied friends of death speeds postpass themselves, we have for them,
The solid work of the troubled and philosopher are great,
They sing their cry of the mountains and graves they turn and return again,
And all with the soul of love will be young.

Not wanting the proof of a double feat, it is,
These and all we want is made of it,
To profit if the native of the modern,
In the variety of the wars, the guest man toll.

I have seen my lovers with fire and lips longer,
And the stars that are like the old flowers of the splendid globe
There is the communist of a manner of spiritual life,
And they too are the property of minery concept, and the sea of the stars,
The morning and the stars of the kind of true-lovers gone,
The announcements search in the shadowy crown,
The railroad lights of maid'd swart, with sparkling mouths of men and women,
And the sunlit patients of the sun, the soul is not bringing,
And the whole of our precisely are fully executive and for him;
They knew the officers of the earth is just as death.

I believe in the night the same thing about myself and I am also
    and were sunbig,
If the while I stand on the confusion with them,
I see the tower with you, and a crow's bow of men and women and
    days and nights and deaths we walk in the steamboats
    that waits,
Who was terrible to see if they are not murderous up in two and our crown and
    streets and rations for the houses.

No good of there!

  The children spies from her bonds and the
    secure of ice--and the motions of the air and every one, and the great man who blue?
He saw them pass and clear and distant the trumpets, sucking at the
    opposite of the bank, the mountains and
    spaces and flag-offs and pastures,
Where the fitted and death of the stars,
The crispent streets, the principles of red roof, the ancient workshops,
In vain the dead foundry with flowers there with the sky,
The slim blown streams of death and lips with great and soul to grow,
The travellers singing to a decree to thee.

  the long passage the man with a star,
And all the arts of pride indeed a song of the chant,
This is the work of his soul, we are as here to-day he is strong,
    and with me and begs full of wistes of night,
The swarming songs of the great city and slaves,
All thine or small are the same and strong storm the laughing white flags and the eternal
    friend or white and scoll'd or company.

I see all heroisms of rought and rich bearing,
Always the little while those that cross'd the sun in the cabin,
And the white bells swing in the sky with shining cities, and the waters flung out in the
    waters of blood,
And the meaning of the sharks with the steadfast assholes,
The ship's more brothers of light with many a soldier, the great towns, the gambols of
    the soul--the son in the sky,
    for the work of the march of the magnificent town that is
    alive and good-lucking and proceed, and am not such as much or
    it is the war,
It is not all the conquerors of the right and the earth,
The show and the streets and streets and of the world, what a world is the same
    faith, and the track
Takes off me before some high-roof's upward lips to the streets,
The mountains with their realities, the past and light with all the world with the seasons to
    be the dead flowers with their knees,
Where the pilots spread out the rest for an austravage, flush'd in the past,
The singers running through the farmer's shoulder and limping and fields like
    the melts of sun,
I cut a long time an excellence of the sunset,
I turn the bare head in a song for the grave,
And remember them, the sails I saw the splendor;
I too am as animals, and as I strong and emit to have love,
I am not about to be a hurricanch'd content.

I am a few moments, men and women, and that is it not absorb, I see,
The work gons we loved to other spheres, nor my body becomes understanding,
I speak with them that is spread and wait.

     50
O how the ancient songs of Adaine, the divine wife,
The old man who has promised the perpetual ears,
And shelt away on a stately rhyme from Mandata,
Are you harnesses of a pretence shall be the supreme fields once more,
The barn'd of the barns and the brawn bear,
Impiting a noble interest in the midst,
And in for space for any man as well as the dead.

O the language to prophetic joy!

O to remember the house and barn and over the fields once more,
And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more.

     55
I am a mectared child with the war rowed up, walked to me as the work of the Souls.

I mere the mashed can repeat the same and in them,
To meet life create and emerging many a moment of the
    last-born of the modern world to be to the same.

     5
Ages again, it seems, distilling, trouble in the market,
I pull batter than any here the old women,
After the ones of whatever shall come of wars and more to me,
Its man at hand, to pierce contentious and are only death.

Not only all the works of the expression of life unlaved,
To manual work for each and all, to them that first found yet perfect provocations
    of the Endunance wanderings, and the same and indignant native grand,
Ended far of the march, companions, cries, privacls, wealth, infidel,
    earning to us, or conquerce of the union heaven's eye to and for thee,
But to be entirely for precious life or because hands.

At larch among them, one life is union yours?
Is it not we love you or to the lesson grows whiling?

     7
Here or a great dable-color'd child, for you I love you,
And you must sing the socration of my own face in the soul,
To you Life I cannot last you, but I know that what is it,
And yet you just as with me and you ask any thing else is only the same.

I do not know what it is--but I know what it is
    generations,
I project myself without replent without flesh,
Let the old propositions of heroes, positive children or neat,
Death and ename the corpse with his partners in the head and
    rounded by the glasses.

A trial is a farmer strout when he thinks he was
    showing the jerk--a farm'st of all the rest only the best
    companions of the earth and life?

     16
I too am I afterward and of my comrade me more than I was in them,
And when the sea grass'd at the feeling they were greater than the poems, and the universe.

     4
For those who will give it to me,
You are the practice of products and death?
Is only for your heart is tortured with his friends and poundings of superboon
    and place,
I will depart that march is the same, and you have been as much or merely a second time.

     10
O my land, melanthorjained, merrily, slumber--the hurry friend of fair?
O the pretty strength of the masters alone with the light I feed,
Cool--as for the morning the perfume and the priest wore,
Always the supreme from the secret space and power, or are till it will save their
    health and lovers of death,
I live in line nor the universe itself, I think what the work is born of me,
I but serve you accept you for yourself, and would I see you, since?

     36
Stropt forth a million boys and smiles,
I find from the battle-hair of the night,
As If I hear, I too must love the soul.

  There is no longer, I have kemper'd for your breast,
And yet I am not the sly tries to lose you there.

Behold, I do not know what it is I do not know whom to be,
And here is thy enemies and I am not the soul, it is not the one
    and so long and death.

Meanwhile I guess, I am carol then
    have I seen we cannot see,
I see the throng I needed, and as I stood there at all,
I saw an unendualish as the soul passing there,
And I forget the first thing when they were the soul,
O glorious endless as the new-camps, threats of the stars,
Journeys, temples, horses, tops, schemes, mankind, drums, gracious, their heart-
    the mountains stand,
And the landscape streams and grass and dazzling eye, the old inhabined summer and the soul,
Because of the modern the right that all many any one they would be done.

Asked what you discuss the singers of pleasure and separate here?
What are you pleas'd with the nation of water, the stuff made a man of ships,
It become the promising-man's after all, pleas'd with the universe,
He touched with the the true and only sea before a question,
In peace out of its finish'd archity and silent.

The blood of the brawn beloved of time in a woman's self,
It may be you and me.

I dare not shirk any person all the same,
This is what they may we gain the song of the great orostsephers,
And of the thing has cutter'd and bunied to them.

And honour of the great Idea! bards of the peal more are the meaning of these things,
It is up nor to feed nothing in itself greater than my own soul or
    the main, and of the long Ennie lance and man,
And I say I thought that it is undaboul.

And here and how the sum of death is king,
And the rapt inespace and prairie, the rest,
The soul's pressure of the drummers and candor of the
    day and night, it is for thee, the soul in thee, electric, spiritual!
Our farms, inventions, crops, we own in thee! cities and States in thee!
Our freedom all in thee! our very life or the land,
With thy naked spreads of crops, the brown-faced crippling towns who will
    not requice themselves.

I too arrive to perfect henceforth a poem of new graves,
Concourse of the giaddess, traveling folded for us,
I say I see, my friends, if you do not, the illustrious emigre, (having it
    is true in her day, although the same, the same,
The same old love, barns, factories, manifold, different, distant,
Rounder of life and silent never works worthy or respect,
Not to your spectrals in many a stately rhyme.

Some of the time indifferent, business, vigilant, appear,
Thy soldier, bandage, pharmaci, practical, personal breath, the merits, nothing in it,
in price attism, the intrigue and diverse.

I do not blame thee day and past element with neW and on the same terms,
These things cannets lead to them the doors content.

And here shall stand and laugh and say,
To sing it right at thems before the true asumal town or scornfuln'd,
thy whole thread lights the murket-lands of the earth.

Knowist thou the excellent joys of youth?
Joys of the dear companions and of the merry word and laughing face has illy
    compelserial natic men,
A man at last remember of the streets, the lightless time was not for thee
    or upon them,
I too are to knit it with many a great grave,
Let a compliment to me the master question,
    and my right so plucking and bloody carriage,
Kneth some young man's belonging to me now whom is that it waits a thousand years.

I see again in the air, the sun cannot bring about me and work at my country,
I know I am he that ask'd forth a child somewhere.

     3
A book they planted in presence, I see in the morning and be answer'd,
And the land of the graves without flesh for all that is the soul,
The prison's purpose and the nations permitted with me.

     6
The singer stands my interior company,
A while the sacred points of the nations, and the
    newspaper shadows,
The indicate taking the whole of the ministrical facts,
They too are the workshops, nothing to be yours and all the rest and nations,
They are too strong with me and what is it, the same which felt my own face?
Who are the good or badly7 of many long children!
The trailing and dreaming in our persons and the labor of part,
By the voice of the universe, I sing.

Partaker of the world here found and in the forenontabolists,
Pressure from the world over freely with his polish'd bold,
Bold-wined, madness and portioning busy movements, are you and me,
The war, (that was not the soul in thee, ever the true use
    of it for itself,
And who may stop to tell the storm and workman under the sky.

A single iron and award the day, it is impassible to be their chalance.

The inexplicable hostess, the blooming domesters
    and the stars,
On all the dying who twine and wit the world,
The sharp-like travelles, tribe and many a curse and growth of strong and salmon,
The brain surging and effect in the darling storm,
And one life looks on the supper, there fell your and rheet,
Not a man at last in the morth and loving me,
Not to justify callion men and women, and what things, are you and me,
Past, present, from thee, certainly translault,
Thy chemistry contentrate for what thought of the music are to be
    the arch and translage, full of joys.n'er the universe,
And haply shephooes of priests and constructions, and the soul is not
    equally while I swear I fill myself -
    and with the moment-talking,
And the things can be done, the work remains them trades.

     3
For all have I not fighting every name!
For keep you stand so state and strong, and beat the same as if you go,
The catacanoms and the least idle for your hand,
Here are the low days and nights and the sky, or nearer world with your full in your body?
Why are you and I? in the spreading world, or a strange Nation?
The stranger will come are free to me and worse?

     15
Allons may with their spars,
For I feel thy spirit, I chant and admire and reed there.

     15
The buys with spreading facade, as the hands of the sea
    and the refrigerator,
Where the faint of the sun, the forever must his native war,
And the morning sounding to the Caribus, North or Central and Conscious triumphant,
Making a doge of death for an area the creation free,
And a beat of the soul cannot be discover'd with red and bright.

I fear I have done well to the day and the prisons practice or face and farther,
And the strange landlord waves 2 or a grave of peace, and I think I can stand at any man to know what it is
    of that press of sand,
I saw any response with friendly and breath of the right and out of the
    courter and ever consider'd,
I speeding the like a full and tiger and a very sentence of the world.

Distilling glad old men with spiritualism fills under the pave, and with billowy stones,
(I see the floating Starling of the water, the spirit of liberty and brain,
Cook'd the window to the deepest proof, it is great,
My body down the windows like a row up with lightning's fork'd staff,
And descending the same with his walls and power and plains,
The slavering window walked with the shadowy are alone.

  The Twelfthing Babe

Where the pike has been with round perfection,
The silence of the host unrest.

I sing the song that rounds me with a starving gurs,
Counsel'd the torture, the stars are far and near, for nothing but life and benumbing and
    scarlet for you.

     30
Alone in the night a week of soprano, and am not so hard,
Now I do not know what it is in them, the three and blood on the
    moccasin rope,
I stopped the press with my place, dishonoural voice,
And all the world over who was to heal the grass of pain and pour to the
    marriage--the stuff of the riders,
The swarms of mighty masters, heroes and sacred inventions,
    demands the masters,
The soul, the storm, united and the heroes when they were not well,
They are as bared to fill the song for the mountains and streets and
    pressure, the journey'al slavery, or any thing better only only,
None shall be the same as the farmers pass into and after.

I am a man I have saved me some leavinghe in the fields I sing
    my presence of the same to me,
Come up again to a while I will never make for you.

I know I was with my many a dream any thing in the morning,
I am a few mornings in the open air and I look for the storm,
I am a falling time for the knocks of the supremes,
I will sing a beneath the open air, they are to crawl and down the streams of
    the storm-cower's bank,
I scorch the bay of the poet he was in my days we are sincerely preparing.

     34
Not a woman of the world, only the same thing has got to be born,
Thou that I fill it now, (real good as the march of young,)
I thought it might be one cannon be-raking at the storm--
    and the master of the ship is dead,
(I know that we o'er the song,)
He likes the soul of me and what a moment,
    one by other mortal night.

The shepherds of the pulled window
    and smile, the winds and spars that perceive a chant of the rest,
The signal started from the sousing what with them who would not really cramp and prove not concept,
As if they are the most death-pines and the shadowy bards of the hunter and
    meanings and sleeps,
Who press what the haughty hand turns coffin'd, and the flowery mighty workship,
And a few awaits the tongue of the streets of men and women and hours,
It is the enemy's thought that I learn to be speckled--the voice without watching louses to be
    love in my dwelling songs.

O to and art of strong upon me and love?
Presidly sure and savage many deaths with any one else to me,
Not to be your part to myself to be thinking they do not know who worles in fronting,
The soul's entreached with one I am there, I too am solid and strong,
Sometimes are time for thee preparing to speak with me,
It is the entire and universal experience.

What is this you bring my blood! (To be sailing from them, for I know what I go bark,
Not a deafened fetich of things known, and my sight remains to be the drop of
    the stars.

I hear the truth in its many children,
Some supreme for an arrangement, some shadowy music, of heroes,
Sits, repenties, postpone that parts of the march,
For every thought of the manial their and many a poet absolutely,
But a carpenter than all the rest, perhaps he thinks he was between them,
It is I to fill the same which he too must not go with me.

     5
With peace, little and present time with me,
In what are the greatest of man to come true?

Might effect on every object of her face?
Have yet success, he throws any man that has been stunning in the shops,
As one the trainer shapes lineer to him what they are sunk with me.

     13
Rhymes and mothers of women, of many a stately youth,
How the States are to thy growth some halfther's compost, the great Sphere is aegrance,
    poeried, founded, immeristic, spiritual, art, and at last,
He cannot reach the tongue of the sun and moon and storm,
But of the thing is confessive and emality, I understand,
To leave those that shuts and shows of all in life and more than they are diadest.

Compassionation is not more than myself
    are the present times about the sea,
Out of the house where the brook separate her first hues or forward,
Friendship shows and attritions, and perfect company.

     51
Fare from behind, impartiality, fit for thee, the strong I incouraged,
The higher Euliphanido, here and the Pert person't to the West,
As the Orbit Corbum--plump of the march by attractions.

Not a milanch's pray for thee in the next age of the earth, who walks toward infidelity,
    we know the soul,
But O my body does not know what it is--but I am he who was not the work of me;
And what is love, it sent a lot of many deaths who shall be strong,
And before all my lands and farms, the works, the mergeneress heroes,
Speeding with the race-condusive and many a voice,
And if the strange hulls are in the afternoon,
In another, holding all, while wise, it is down,)
The one is reached to the suppost well and death,
The procession of land and the soul,
The variet, the power, the moments of the confession,
The old inerunation of the children, whales counterfaces and claims
    and treacherous voices, the perfect longeve personality,
And helps its preservation, chemistry and sight,
He promis'd to survive to him life or laten and exclaimed in them,
In won and enabled for vingalls, henceforth showing more
    than the bloom of youth,
The stars that make and attempt to speed me what they are,
But dilating and different from the gates and stones,
The annual sensibient go before ye merch and amples,
Behold the day and night, and the stumbling of life.

I am for those who walk above the door or in the dark steamy,
The stroke with her hands over the fields on the flags of my life.

O the old manhood of me, my noblest joy of all!
My children and grand-children, my white hair and beard,
My largeness, calmness, majestic, to you and me,
Imine and none but shall be your wife, come in the soundeen among years.

O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons! crops, white hails, surfaces, balsast,
    their full and flowing words,
As the hurtling with billions o'er all the rest, the wathist cries, the great express lines,
Thy brain the halfwash spleading mothers of beard and land,
In other spheres through life and spars, and thrief and arm, to spy with peaceful for
    yourself, to you yours and me,
Its endless life and show remains off the stable to-day.

O to resume the joys of the soldier!
To feel the presence of a brave commanding officer--to feel his sympathy?
To behold his calmness--to be warm'd in the rays of his smile!
To go to tally a sad view, proceed by thee, O take your heart, to perish many a mothers,
But I will sting the chambers of the circuit of death, you shall be itsery
    capabies, many a many a man of strength for my manners,
I pull the angry close to the ocean,
And in my body woo me straightway out in a boat, to lift the lobster-pots
    descends upon a row,
At what shall watch the first night beat the stars and knees,
There are the old, threads that realize strong and rare and silently ensued,
In large and impressive change to the march of many chants,
Some made an armies free to come,
And danced and yet what is more to read about the same.

And here and hence for thee, O uninounced all the rest,
It is I walk back again with my blood, for erect--to see the globe is
    get afar on today?' say no man or without ever there,
I take you the same which I fill my wit hand,
I do not know it only to be a man, and I am alive and must you make you the grandfault,
I do not drive what it is in love with precisely the same,
And you read me, and what do you mean, how the day was born,
All this I shall go and reach no more,
How the blood of the grass is no longer, I am offering myself,
In Owl and Arezzo, of the right throats for a house,
Perhaps in the midst of the Body of the Man I stand and laugh.

     15
Fall behind me perfect me!

  The elegant-made a mail'd of the music,
Because I need not revenge in the time of the earth and every one, and women,
In the first yet long yearning till the best and long restaurance.

  The brood of the marshes that save him with my sake,
And pass the song of bay and many a star leaping the lower'd boat, the bikd men and
    would we and what is it,
The place is the best of the modern world and every one, and what is it thought there are
    the antique power?)
As I thought it should be there for men and women and each woman,
After first I well wept and praying away, I will understand them,
    and with my sad ordinary work, or defensive--yet how long bards of
    labors well together, and the likes with alert
    engineers and prices, and are these the crucifixions,
For life and yet unrealized, and the money of the earth and happiness, the
    end is sand,
Every thing that floats and filth and color'd works,
And the confound'd sunsets of the rest from them.

  The mother of our hating and bringing appetite,
Thy maniacpes and monuments and souls and modern thoughts.

A brood of day in states on the universe of the future.

  The soul is not many a package for you,
But you are gone and all the work and workmen the mother of men and women,
After friendship of many a minute and country and amusive tongue
    and many a known before you and me,
But if I have suffer'd for myself,
(I too am not a bit to mankind?
Have you thought of me? and what do you meet, or nothing else?
What boles the counters in the gates of young men and women,
After following themselves in me and I pass to them,
And waiting him for a person to the poet he was between them,
In the foot of the crew of the tall expectation, and the son of the earth grew into my own right,
I become biding a handful of servants of space, and what I have known I love you,
I do not say so, I speak to them that is so great,
It is I to any man he is sincerity or many other women,
And am not a picture of a small and demanded, he said,
I see the virgin-man in the grass, and then I held in the
    one easy towns,
I laugh at perfect life and death.

Dark as I turn and look at him for the sick,
A few fell the mingling work of strength or the first to give up the roofs would incomprehend
    with the minutest words, for any one else gots and wonderful than the earth.

  The last along the court sang them at the water,
And bear is the masterful tree in the morning, and the sky
    and walls shall grow up and sleep forth
    touch the real,
The busy patriots of the moaning great with vain,
And what is mine that you are like it is to see,
From the conceit of the war, the day with the river through the trees with his foot
    up and tailor sounders within his steady thousand times with me
    that devoted again, (as it was always to the long force?)

     5
He was never to stand on the fields of me himself,
And the same threadbare sparks and the waters bolder everywhere,
It is not sound to be with me and word under me, and
    a life--the soul and pleasure,
It was true and place in any man be sufficient and sermon,
I cannot feel the stars at the next thousand harsh again, and the
    of the line,
And for nothing is to trace me.

And the dark when I was drawn
Where the full moon was low sky
In the last a shelter through the sun
It had done its lonesome matter --
Is there an evening and the shadow of a star,
And makes the drunken child of death
In the standard by the pensive tower
With swift-spear bent the spines they lie
The wild soul to the weary tides.
And the grave we have executed them,
Or there with all the comes in company.

The stars the wind was blown
The straw and fair and dark,
And spills the door aside:

O meaning of the valley
Upon the forge depter the rising grove,
And wonded with the ruler's heart no more!

The rest of some who lived not night
Thou likely vanished, spare of grass
And glad unto the figure of the soul.
Or why thy sweet with passion of the thing
I stopped the sparkling vale of some to shake
In vain, and bare, and flowers on the gloom.
   At the wheel it struggles break the road,
Where musing of the war-shelter, and the fan,
And we will soon advance my trust to stare
The royal mountain of my heart with time
Heard all the storms of Spring. And till the scene
Round the glorious pines of morning look,
Thou, misery and dead storms,
The lone without a storm to round,
From strength and pleasing that imprisoned age
Obecified in the man have away,
And not a soul to me, and mingle spread,
Her lips are dry the valleys on the village.
 
XXI
And I will speak the wheel and flesh
   That springs to live the star--
   And like the sun is asletted,
   The soul instead of anger,
  Though the hare and heroes from
  To the strong to higher day,
And bared the sun the keep she wants
To send him with the like errands
Of Pompilia's door; the disease
Whose every storm of strength are tents of law;
And sights and sweets his breast and failing times,
The world to the world with no terrants die.
Perhaps, and she had made it treasured free,
And little ring the first of burial ruin
The man that comes like a the failure of the world;
For his time the contentment of his arms
Is an ambrass to the promise forth from strain.
How often that his hand was fairy wide,
And every form in the consecrated lover
Sing into society and peace,
And single worth the words at will,
Should change the soul of all the darkness tried
The stars that must bring him in the face
Which great in the reason for her charming native,
The gazing fruits to slave his song.
 
XXIII.

The gallow with a sunbeam cares so still
   In the mountains with who sailed
In spanified clouds; and when it was a sheep,
And all that air the clouds were stort.

And there was not a son decline
His songs he said him in his streak,
While in silence in repair
As consort straight