(the end of the rest [Full Poem] [Temp. 0.365]

(the end of the rest,
With the streets of the hard-contest earth,
The starts are courted with the distance with the new words,
When the great path is reach'd in the sunset, and the white bowers swing,
The rain and the colors of the streets of the chant, the darkness of the soul.

     4
With laboring merely for the present and the rest,
And when I go to the confusion with the charge of my love to every woman work only,
    and with my poems,
Henceforth I will show you who would be born as the same.

     3
I am a friend of the most beautiful years behavely,
I see the soul of the race of ranks, and singing to me,
I thought I think I shall not fit my part and hear and adventure,
But I am a few minutes of the world of many a starving which all the same,
In the country of the soul.

     4
The sparkles and the march is only retiring for thee,
Let them to make a touch of speech and place of men.

     15
The speed is the mistress of a past, and every one I speed about the trailing and over,
And the other things belong to me, and I have not concerned to me.

     3
I see the spirit of it so have I become
For the more than all that was not the same,
And what is life and death I love to be more than there is nothing but lives,
And when the river and the bullets of pride I love, and what I am for them,
It is the wealth of the sea.

It alone wander'd with all the rest, and the day we walked there and
    the blooming towering eyes,
And the stretch of the light I stand and look at me and
    look at the stars,
And the wheel she spreads it in a pavement the light on the
    shallower stands behind me.

  The son, the stranger that bears a ship for thee,
The soul--the call of the soul--the sun sets to the streets, and the stars and
    stones of the sunlight,
The strongest thoughts of the priest's examined friendship of the world.

The soul is the same as the sea,
The contests of the many a word, the same as the sparkles and crowns
    comes back,
And the stars with the season that was come to the old masters,
And the shadowy storms of the south and the streets are positive song.

The sprig with fire and farts, the flowing trees and the squaw walks by the sidewalks of her breast,
And down the red river of the rest and the stars.

  The soul is the soul,
As the sun belongs the streets and the stars, a street in the sun,
I hear the soul of my gables, I shall be great,
I become to the morning and the strong and soul of me it will come.

     2
I am a friend of an active morning and the mystic day,
And I have no confidence of all the souls of the world.

The long black ship makes light and silent air,
And singing to me and a second storm,
And the old man stroked and as the same and dead, what a dead brother of the world is only
    than all that is the same,
And what is it in sphere which was a stranger and lover?
Why wants supposes that revelation in the midst of the first young man that must be
    single one the supremes one of them any more, the soul--the processions of cannon and
    home and myself and myself and nothing, any more than we want,
The counter and the march of the modern word the same,
And what is it the same, and say to them, strange and divine and person will not see the infidel.

  The same old man, the converse of the grave,
The ship are compact the soul, and the husky and the brother,
The world of the man who has forged from the house and the
    trembling where he stands in the sky,
And the same and sunlit path before the growth of the sun,
The many-follow'd me the same which fills and works are in the streets,
For the performer lacking the same and development.

The sea of the mother of the morning drives,
A while the shape of the stars and the blocks of the blue-shaped earth,
The steamboat the crowd shadows are near the side of the sand,
The tree and mountains and the stars and the great schools and the stars.

     3
The soul--the songs of the sunset, brother, the prize of the
    singing of the seas,
All have I seen I see, and present liberty at last and light,
And when the ship slids to my side of my lips to the sun,
The great carols of the stars and the girders of the silent sea,
And the continental stars are constantly for any one else,
And the last of the man who tries upon the stars,
And let the soul--not for the truth is done, the soul,
The soul in the morning, when the birds are clearing the staff of the storm,
A married as the masters pass the stars and the world works with the sunbeaman,
    the soul,
The stranger, the form, and the hard-contest women,
And the long-struck ripens the flowers of the river, the stars,
    the shows of the battle-fields of the shadows,
As the winds wave for the stars they twine, and another, the
    trees of prices, and the fields and the stars.

     10
Allons, space and present, and the same as the sun is sweet,
Out of the soul is bloody and sylvan and fair,
The same as from the farmer of the world of the world,
The conquered words are there to speak to them that which was like a while,
The performed and subtle snake and the other part of the stars.

  The entrance of the maidens of the modern world,
A brood of pride or faces and the streets and sisters the same,
And what is reason? and what is it fall in the sea?

     5
The soul is not a man and woman I love,
The same old lady in the darkness and the sun and sky,
I cannot see the farmers of the soul, the song and eye,
The tallying the moon sets forth and the streets and stones,
The ship continuing the soul of the sun,
Like a children with the clouds of the soul,
The sun has changed a strain and lips so long,
The flags of the shadowy stones of the stocksard stocksaw snapping,
The counters the same and warning, the strong scent of the sun,
    the stretch of the stars,
The shadowy dreams of the streets are filling the horses and the sky,
The storm-streaming bargain flanned with flowers,
The slight stretching through the small arms politic and the sun.

I set as I walk the time in the sky,
Where the strain of the long-struggle are for the good of the battle-hand,
And the soul falls in the side of the earth, and the sun will not be through the
    central fields and the sun,
I walk with the strength of the stable, the other is no more and
    beautiful things,
I shall not know what it is in them that was done.

I am a minor and silently also in them,
What I am not the same treasure.

I do not know it with me, and what is it fantasting and fibre your friend?
What are you doing? and what it is in you, but I know it is,
I speak to me any more than I am not a man or woman,
And make your mind and death to solve you are and I answer now.

I see it I meet, the same whispering all is death and wonderful to me,
I see the time for you, and peril and death,
I swear I have served thee on the stage again.

I see in the dark from the highway streets and spies and
    clear shadows, and the dead and warning and the
    bear bent down to the sunshine,
I see in the midst of the woods and stones of men.

     16
The spot that spreads the supremes of death, the promptly to me, the Presidents are to the
    States, the Masters of the Excelsive of Beauty,
The procession of the world over the stars and the stars.

  The solid body was born,
The rest are the strangers and the stars.

The spot through the sun and sky, see in the sky,
    with the bugles of the world over the streets,
The crown the strong stretch of the streams of men and women and contents
    for all the dead or the war,
And the rest of the morning when they are to be the same as they are for the form,
A man who has been with it to the sunshine the stranger with the storm of men.

     16
From the stage with flowers of the sun, the stars of the sunlit path of the sun,
I hear the sky in the bayor, and the performer's part of the stars and
    countenance where the clock took a chest, and the
    follow'd her bones and stones,
The master of the modern teachers filling and clear,
The master-man with the walls and spirits, the storm-clothes and the shadows,
The pasturage stately spars through the rest of the rest and price and the seas,
They the materials and countenances of old men and women and children,
The soul in the midst of the stars.

  The same old song,
Sometimes a summer'd summer passing there,
The crowd started as the river proud and wait,
The power of the white light of the soul,
The great change of the soul into the fields of the land,
The sparkling signal of the confidence of the spring in the black sea,
And the steamboat where the stars are the waves, the streets and the black steamships
    that return no more the soul of my soul introduced,
I see the present all the souls of the soul,
The soul of old man and women and women and life or the most dead are
    the man that spies for him that he is ever to be there,
The whole of the modern word is the same as the sea.

     5
What a stately person was waiting!
(I too am I a poet speak and ready, and was not the same,
And what I am for them driving the storm, the processions of all the rest and sisters,
I wait on the way of the morning I find, I am in the midst,
I blow the leaves of my face, I see in the midst of the sunshine and of the world,
A children and the landscape stands in the sea,
In the distance walks with the head of the world, the loud laughter
    and the march'd face of the modern words sung and singing,
The farmer of the soul is not in time and place and the sea.

     5
What would I press the same and me, and what is it, me?

     3
I see my face while the stars were the same,
And am I at the battle-fields of the water,
    the sun and stones that rest in the sky,
    the grass and the blood of the lowlands and
    colors and the world warts of the sky,
I cannot reach for a little town I love him,
The man who has been without flesh with his face of the world.

  The same as the camp-back of the broken,
The long-struck gathering with the rest and price and person,
And all the world of the strength and the fields and moon they are to be in themselves,
And as the sun shows up there and the rest is the sky,
    and where is the troubadour of the world.

The soul--the morning and the lightnings slept or starting the flags,
I hear the shower with his steamblates in the sky,
    the ship continuing the sun shines and streets on the sky,
    with steady stone on the side of the earth,
The crowd stands a white face of the streets of the flower,
    and the stretch of the shadowy storms,
A brood of prices and brothers, and the soul of the soul,
The stars with the stars and the shade of the streets, the flag of the stars,
    and the words of the earth and the streets and the
    sun and content of the soul,
The sprig of the grave--all the world to reach of the traveler--the strong space
    completely of the sunset,
The soul is the troubled world of one and every nation,
The world of the nations that want me to sell the soul,
And the constant heroes that have been and lives and worshippiest men were sounded,
And the scorching stars and the blood of the sky,
And the battle-fields of the sun and stars and steamboats,
I am an old armies when they are alive and dearest them.

     3
The soul in the midst of the creature of the world,
And for the last night I think of myself, the endless part of the first I believe in the
    counteraction,
I feel the rest of the streets of the most deliberate flowers,
The strong man walks a farmer's palace and his palaces--and the streets are flapping,
    spitting aloft and lightening the white flowers and the stars,
And the stretch of the sun the long black ship shall fly over the
    rock of the great measure of the soul.

  The son, the poet who could stoop and return and love or unknown who work'd for them,
And the soul is the mast-conscious of the graves of the earth and spotted under you,
The strong shadow of the roughest words I go, they too love with such as the same farms,
I feel the soul in the streets, and the strong shadow and the stars.

     16
The busy world of the grave,
And some three words the same as the wars I lay at the same chant,
And I saw the songs of the river, the stranger wounded and sleeping,
And I see the mighty bad passing, the principle words have completely cannot be something else as the same as
    alive, and the master of the soul is in the sky,
    the prize is really of all the souls of men and
    women and compacts, and perfect gods,
What may the spirit of the many things that serv'd is the same as the sun is service and
    millions of works,
And the storm of the world over the streets and sunlight,
The sound of the swart and stone or march the grass is growing,
I see the fluid and soul of me as I love, and love or death,
I see the splendid manilover with my soul in the streets,
It is not in a present word for a man or woman, we are alive and find or
    single one or the same and song,
I do not know it--it is the end of my poetry, and the superb shape of the
    monotonous poets of the earth is serious,
The same old land of the modern thought of the earth I lost the storm,
And the old man who taunted the stars the fields and the silent sky,
The sky was born in the streets and surrounds a part, and the same
    and simply think of perfect and many a starving stranger,
And the stars and the streets of the sky in the window,
    and the heroes playing the stars and the bandage of the rest,
And the streets are flung out in the sky,
And the flowers of the stars are bared to stand,
A star the steambrates of the soul,
The streets of the same old man and watery and brother,
A song that stands the storm-way and the south and trees,
And a street and swallow-sparkling and remain,
The soul into the battle-fields of the sun,
The many a battle-free companion of the same.

  The love of the hand, and the strong stars of the sun,
A star the horror, the soul--the bullet with his walls and hums,
    the stretch'd with the stock,
I see the same and sound in the streets and the blocks of high squaw
    and world in the streets,
The sparkling shadows with the steamboat the sun is sunken'd with strong arms.

The spare is equally with the march of the strong and race of my life.

     6
I see the songs of the sun,
I swear I will not serve a while the sun sets to my sadly,
I see the soul of the soul--but I am a man who passes him on the street's stroke.

     13
The soul is not for them to you, and you must have been as you are for you,
I know the soul is not more than any man who are you any more
    and many a stately and silent.

The soul is not more than it is, it waits upon me.

I do not know if I am the one I have not been before,
And what is life and simply are to be my sake,
I take you specially to be mine, you terrible, running,
    naked to a narrow componerous mother's and loud my soul whores before me.)

     5
    then the bloom of their pials wanded out the
    fields of the woods and shops on the
    regiments,
And the songs of south wars, the supremes, we are so,
I have done with my pleasure and saw the daylight and the west or what I want,
I will not know what if any more is the same, and am not an earth nor any man translate with
    all things,
What I am not the soul, it seems to me there is no longer any more than the same,
And yet the same old lady proceeded with my own followers except the same.

     51
The past and present all those thousands alone cannot be surround you,
I candidly confess a queer, queer resumes the soul,
For the eternal word of the prizes, who died and was surmone?
Worse these States will show you where the storm before you,
The dirt to fill the broad red close to the forest to the woods,
And the whole of the silent night with the trail itself,
And your will the other are the price of the light one that will be the man and all we wholly,
It as I walk'd the part of the twentient town I love you, and I answer now,
I have surprised that the best I see you, but I know what it is in a different filth,
Why should I present what you would confide us than the sea.

     17
The soul--the same and divine are the farms,
I am he who has been as gone, she is, I will sell him or herself
    and my distant men and women and earth,
I see the soul of a day or some or the same as the same face of
    the master of the stuff,
And the dead of the rest is the more than one who lived in the soul,
The same whispering one I see, the continent and the stars,
    and with the sun,
The soul--the long-content of the streets are for the streets and
    masks and blood,
And the orators and steamboats with the dead that dropped out of their throats
    and the stars and the waters.

     15
The bayonets of the silent sun, the rest they are to be the same as they are gone and well,
The forests were not the work of the true lovers of the rest,
The stars of the sun and sounds of money, and amid their own sake,
Perpetual artillery--the song of the modern retreats of the grace is now.

     14
The procession of the world, and all thy works,
For me the vegetables, I see me and what is it, or the soul,
Always a stranger, the children is not the same,
And what is life as the best of the last, any thing is this there is nothing but life?

     16
The blocks of the battle-field full of the sun,
I see the great cars and the shadowy closed and the stars,
And the same walks came together with the whole earth and the
    music of the earth,
And I knew the soul in the midst of the streets, and the stars are no more and
    answer to me the soul,
And what is it to be your hand, and be not dead and worse, what a
    counteral in the morning and the stars and
    men and women and cities?
What did you see if I have learnt a ship of things to be living with
    many a song for yourself, I will never matter not to come freely with me,
I take you the one I love, and what is it in the night?
Do I anger in the midst, I will see me, problem, sometime in its future,
Sailing a few friends of the stars, and responsible the same as the sun,
I see the present all the soul is the enemy's believing there.

     7
I see the soul of the world,
When I see the soul in the sky,
With eyes of songs and steals and stones,
It was a stranger where the soul is so,
I see the soul of the strength of the sky,
And some the earth is still the rippling sky.