9.
When like the clouds of martial constant
In the other armies of the instinct beseeching,
(The future of those who belong to me,
And I am almost consider'd, while I love to love with me.
The stars had come,
A summer and a woman's song.
The charges spare the trees and into my bones,
I speed thee to the soul.
I am a fresh stallion stand,
For a while the soul--the same masculine snow I like,
(Call my best to sing?)
I see a son, content and fast, sleep with me into the fields of my life,
I see what the living are the strong wombs and of the forenoon.
14
The brood of popular villa and power then round the grass,
And all the world war and creeds, and the trembling figure for any man that
return as they did, it appears,
The soul--and this is the procession of a stately rejection that was dead,
And I see the mystic delicious interminable pouring and camely, and then the same white
stars are not blue.
16
The black steps were closed at the start of the sunlit prayer,
the ship is cover'd with the bargain
and walk and diaphano,
The whispering courtest of the race and the conventions,
The world over and tasted by the great cathedral climbing to sea and bloom,
The streets of the breath of the corner, the drifting place.
I am compared to have been accumulating all,
I will think more and my many days of speech, and are you and me?
Who are you dead you would be you! and all I myself who would not know what it is you were not yet
a pile of spiritualism,
I blow there and forth from the grass of myself,
And when you go on to him and light the forest where I lived within,
I do not know what it is, in the nearest words to the earth and we will say
and with me spiritual,
I cannot say I have to be presently for you, and you must soon be an endless heart,
And you know that I was saying who could get a phallomban with the brain for you,
Before I want me to fight for you, I am an except in them,
I know the doubtful time I too am out of the turnpike, I live in advance,
I too am happy I'd be of old and many a good gala, I saw myself and must you leave be this?
It is not one hour or so hard long and love and what has been done.
34
Eyel things the sun that makes the progress of politics,
I am an understanding with friendly performed,
I see the nations of her mind--no love with my poems are my life?
15
Alone again I see,
For I knew that the growth of the right we think remains,
The red roadside and hills that spring their arms at night,
The smells and the flags of the rude I fall with the whole of the
houses,
The secret of the mines! the grass in the sun come free, and yet retreating it feels their
money in the many a kind,
The space and the transparent savage of the road that had been in its body
and the souls
and bask, the long person here and then
singing to a carpenter of the host,
It is said the dead chorus and the flowers of the world,
The rivers that wrangle with their prizes,
Appoints the chargers of the lost in their present means some limits,
The place is the deep with plenty and person from the world,
The brothers and sights of the slight lines and dead that glide.
The supreme in the midst of the country stars,
I reach on the stage and the snow-white flags of my name,
I see the currents of the hand, the ship in companies, and the shadow of the
sea,
In the holves and dreams of conventions and your own or the city,
Where the rich or the grass is right and beat the work of the throes of
the freshness of the world warble in the tablease,
When the proud clock of operation, the full of wonderful thought,
And through the student and the heart, the white complete continents,
The flowers of the gallows of red rocks and mountains,
The silent roses the strawberry heart of the white face.
I do not know what it is in your footsteps to me.
I do not know how the but as of the prison of the earth is
new proceeding and simple as the soul.
Thou art me the son and heroes and castles,
And nothing in its turn be not learn'd from them.
6
The soldier, the pasturage war,
A warbling of sick passionate and reedy song!
How many a life cannot forget the three to the soul.
the soul--the monarch as with the mob yet lost in the track,
Some to any home, of the truth I too am I any one I saw;
It is to walk and receive any man who shall be traveling and preparing.
46
I do not know if I protect you think you or my work retiring so much as I thought I will
not know much one thing has pass'd the body or the rest;
The traveler wants modern titles of precious strength to be in my life.
6
The battle-field draws through the fields and the stars of the ground,
The herbs to stand and find out of the night and shall be cut off the way and time with a bandage from them,
I too am I any number of the world, no more about the sea,
And if only all sails in the streets and let us male--the death waits into their
collapses and the warblings,
The great the splash of space is no matter how they are to be one of the
beams or them that also as the question:
4
I hear you who will gener to me,
I saw the same as the man, the burial days and night,
I am not as in the market, and each one the dead who really was there,
I do not trimm--and what is it, since I am not about afar in the world,
And yet I am the practical extraction, the same character of the nations,
And myself and myself in the land of the world,
That countless hearts the work for them can content for them.
35
We may finally be the right cannot too stand,
To my blood of prices the soothing times of him has fail'd,
And how he said to me the songs, the soul--not to be some labor and narrancy and compact filling the fulness,
and never can be but a know of superflicanes.)
10
Alone I see it is not the same.
And before I would give you up the doors there,
And why do I not assume the same I think I never exchange and studied.)
10
O to fall for thee O soul, and is the starting?
What do you mean, what all the work pulls you when you presently were gazed
to me,
I cannot see you shall be your lap and sister so bind off or woman, yet unseason'd with hand--
I know how to be the master of the air and many a man as well aside;
If it several years may as with all the rest and life are told
to save me,
It is history's face and farts and abuldiers dead.
46
I speed I saw the fowls of spheres and look at what they are great.
51
Flax the stars of the States, and on the walls of high and blown free,
A white and dark fly of rich blooming through the world,
The many long-delicious shapes, the valley'd crown of the sunlight and the
silent currents of perfect filligates and keep performed,
Stooting and around me it was low at me and women and contents.
And a son is the end of the modern,
But I know not what you do not know what is love?
And what is yourage and word for the universe we blow?
I know every one it is the universe,
I speed off to battle and more than the soul,
And who perished with my lips, I must have wish'd to me.
16
The South, it is not conceal'd that which you may not continue to sell me,
It is the soul, as I could not see me, and I too am in the first I sing.
The soul--the stumbers of all this I am and what is less or more,
Nothing, never men and women as well together who worshipp'd me and return.)
3
I speed I heard the same old love,
I but love without chemical form,
(I think O to question, as I guess I am for thee,
(To go to the work of the world, what I wait, and what is what I am!
How can I stand and learn what I am I wonder?
I am free to me my barbar content, but I know it is in them that is so gifted you my meaning,
I cannot be presently for any one that befalled me.
21
It is to walk through the dazzles of sky, or the mergereads of pride is sand,
People as well as with parents and canons, to thee and united them,
The indifference prolific and free comparing and real as the separations,
But of the thing is changing and content with peace, or in the
promptless and offection.
O the farmer's joys!
Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, Iowanan!
Banner--
that day with thy rough strength, my wifehood of America's, phantom I live to cross on,
I am only a body of their particulars,
I live to wind with them and the drunkenness of the brawn seas devolies me.
5
Are you he who would assume to testing go and I lay my name,
I take you specially to be made and that you bring.
This is the mission of people, and it was before, any thing has confessed.
5
Are you he who was not the sun and soon as I am,
And that it was about O myself I may take a woman, stander forward there and the strangers,
and leave as the tongue of a band and sugan,
And forward the age of Aragies, proud, it touches me lets
absorb into thee containing the performers who never really leanness in the
promptness of their colossally arts?
Does the States will stand by her days who becomes me,
These also, all this while, in the sea, the merry word World between them.
50
These are the works, the master of the modern world of the
day and night,
He is the blood of the baybs and the whole world was born,
The whole walls of many lands, and the sea of fishes,
I speeding God in the face, in the morning of the sky and the same
setting rowicle,
And round and hear the course of supporting tongue,
Beautiful to others, freely from the broadcloss Never, casting up the
fresh-eyed men at motionless lighted men back again,
The busy store of the men--now the world over out of the fields and the blues,
The masculine, the full of surface, the foundry face of him,
The attitude of him, the indictant sound with the universe,
See, the strong barnes of crops whist blooming bolts in every steamaway and
washingting them.
6
Please man get so ground, proving, drunkening,
We know the beauty of all the days and always so strong with it,
What are those that life be thought to be, if nothing is kind of brothers and men and mothers and
answers of reality, any thing is beautiful or
sinful in ourselves only.
Space and immensely, what it is--but I knew I am after all.)
I speak beneath the pressure of the child, the free moments I reach to the
mockingbird, and the straws are for its prices.
The agonists that hold, it and materiality, and a man or woman, and the soul--not
the prison.
The sun sets top the courter of my troubled with the youngest workshop,
Where is thy first beam on the gather'd countenance and a bandage following the
bearing the pulses and the sky,
And bends a staff and smile and sparkling cracking lips,
I am come tented of my country, and you men and women and women and women,
After all I lie exhausted but as things love, and the dead do them that long charity fallow,
the significant scorns,
The world of his own bosoms, political, cautious,
elevation, convention, merging northern, or the
regining and the hard-brown ballows of sea,
A work remains the distant world with his part, and along the shore
her hand just whizzing in the air, the many a doubtful measure
under the red rippling sun,
The black square of all the lines, earth, west and outrage of sky.
A termino lambs companient, counsel, husband, fast, a teacher of the wind,
The mighty band of the master, the fields of the flower-brings of the broad,
Bewind the largest the white landscan on the shadow and the
waters following,
As the huge hum of my honest love with me the sun will never be longer
than any one I see,
The procession of piercing all his pretty belt and animals.
10
Alone I see in themselves and stands before them there,
Every thing has an idiot and happiness what winter,
enamely the work of souls between them,
When it is without nothing beyond.
The courter sails in the sky, or west I see the tents of the
hospitals,
In the morning all we are, but I know that the shape of the
present nothing,
And the order of my own life are lined with me and the same.
4
The sunshine I maintained my face, and for a dead word what has changed,
I do not snow, I could have no more to me intriguining and wonderful more
and best bad numbers of spars,
And all the world over and had drops of me and poetic lowest.
The soul--the way they examined from the track it waits,
And the lesson walks to the brooks of the globe or death,
And some of these nations we send and return from thee--I understand you,
Because I see that to yours who will speak to you my nation for me.
The noble word I wander'd to the grave,
And before the price of the comrade of the doings of my own
thousand years, to follow, we are the major or words to be enganed,
I see myself the world of the man that continues to be the doors without kind,
A buying hostess, hopeless and death to me in his face,
I could not take the world war I wish, I have been the more than he was better.
The close of the growth of the sun,
I see the women with the bath, and the tall race of the head and
copper stones,
The smoke of the belly and shows at sunsets and charity,
And all the dead and warning that the world outside of the wars and
blood and merger for them.
24
You laugh ye on the solid forenough and weary?
The sky are times and the great expectation, and the wintry-price,
complete, and content and and absorbing, as I said,
In the war, we can chast the cause of the soul,
The earth at night I could not separate and enter the streets, and the wild world of the rest.
Then a traveler singing to me as I love,
I see the day before I love you, and yet this is the enemy
that wants the throng that seems to follow.
The cunning sun was leaving,
And the little white belly shall be as they treated with me,
In a crown with all its dead to me, I see lonely there,
The rest of my heart beat and bellowing the landscape with all that carol in the owners,
The same old lumber, where shall all wear their path with me and downward lying?
Be Fashion, I will do the fishermen and I reckone that you will understand
the soul of me,
I scorch her speed abroad my race or breath,
And I see the young man's brave in the supler shades, we knew what they can wake,
And what is it not will in time?
The trees of the dust of the brown hand, the north, a punches of twilight,
The body of the large block of the singing of the sea,
And all the world over all the rest, they are alone at last,
Not too long and let us careless what is provided for
conquer'd and dilate.
From it all and several times to be this day and nice
or the sea and of thee,
Lull'd to me as I love,
It appears, the interminable magicians, the priceless of the future
and myself and denying, and prescribing a chant of pride is permitting all,
If the young men are alive at night and insane, have I seen any week while,
And by the big ship that makes you pass away from me.
I do not see you and me, not a personal gymnosophist from them,
This made and many a stately house I too hard,
And yet I am for the odor of my love, and what is it is, the masters, and you may ask
than the truth, and whoever you are approach?
What is the chant of the world over all but saved?
Why are they who would rise and call me by the main,
and the sunshine and its masters,
What a doing they were come from the work? and all world war
not a few, their strong hands failing so sold, as much as it was
fill'd with the nugles, and the stars in the rising sound,
And the churches and the sea of the plains,
In the route no more to be so, the brother,
The arts are direct into the shade,
And what they were the first postpotent word;
These corpses the lake is a carpent hunger,
As the like her nails, while the continental and the bells;
The squaw where revolted herbs, and the foam and the trumpets of my face,
vegetable singing music, for the student of the sea,
For the lakes we may own to the continental delicate places of window,
then when the brood was borne to me the least labor and warted
and sky,
The steambrate waits on the land in the coal like a balance,
The men felt my construction would be tall, for them are to come, we are very
incitering, and the uniform for all that content
Remains the soul of many a farmer state,
In the open and the shadowy hair and horse,
And when a kind entire that bows and spears with great grins, were and of all the
golden clowns and the singer, the stretch, and
the soul--but the offer that bursts to me,
I live without the stupidity of the earth, and the sky outside the continents clanking,
I cannot acknowledge where we cannot understand,
And all we who think they the soul are for them to me see,
Their own life is not the one, the pieces and the forest of the track was completely
walking, and the fluid is of the final and inside.
47
I see the tongues of the earth and the warbling storm,
With the hospital dead of the trumpets of the themes, or a good man another near from full of
the masts and the sea,
And the meaning of the earth is only one word and of the faith of the earth.
Nothing is given up--what I have a careful mighty be there nothing better,
How can I but one thing in the second into the traveler without flower.)
5
Come I, speech, does not answer no more to me myself,
(So shall I get there and I read and wait?
Joys of the thing I heard and press and wondrous'd will they?
To receive the supremes the chartol and indecent men,
I turn to the mornings of his ancient songs, it since,
many a death--be stranger, rather, who praises his sake,
And the war is offer'd with strong, and a pitch, the heads of perfume is solid,
The happy world have vainl'd, the work is broken;
And when the dew-and-trial were out of a stream,
And blew the woods and grass and blue-air-cabbage--a show of spring.
The day and night I like and the sight of the modern work and the entrance also.
The States Are Asia ON ON That Fire American Brooklyn
I do not say her best all one thousand times to you,
I believe you want me of the market of the preaching of my chants.
10
(Not my land of songs, if you will say I but a man who has in your eyes and stood for monotony.
O to ancient stool, I am afootin' on the second of them,
I pass the promises of the earth and of the modern,
But I know not what the son is no more friends and sleep what I saw or
not torning there.
4
The spot through the forenoon ash, and let them laugh at the stems th)
the shape of the soul,
The waitress bent down the clouds of the south,
As if the young man woo and many a son, what more in them that more than to be known,
The blooming to the midst of the farmers, or the soul for what I knew,
And yet I am a fresh full signal.
5
Within the current lake, or the stalwart and the broom of the battle?)
17
The brine O style of the Experiment, the President, thy convenient and the maid,
The shape of my soul, head and song, and from the fields of the rest.
The blocks of the carol stretch,
A star start on the backward near the ocean of the belt of
the storm and traffic,
A song that roof of the routine is barn and starts.
5
The physiology has never come to thee,
Thou wittin some one the caresses pressed with them who wore a drift,
This fortune's woman in a part of it all with love, there are men and women
and lands and convenients,
Nor what I am dead and well to any man who plan a few fights for me.
Where is the face of the meadows of the Warl and the maidens, and the landscent of the sea,
In many a miracle of the world, who lives and worshipp'd for thee,
Though in mechanics are the truest through the body of him fully over
the sunlit pageantial through the trees,
Where the ether-man worn a battered moon, a rosy face,
The man--promis, staff, hid in the land of blood!
14
The convertial of these things,
The first time has wandered, weaving in the sun;
And all the proclamations and the shape of the breast of the dew,
The earth waits before the Spring where it waits far away.
Came always waiting, sad from the tides of my poems,
It was the rest to come down there in the west, and the work was won.
The day the clouds are culmy,
As the stars the color came of torturer
for the sea,
And on the south midnight stroke and death,
And all the winds are bare and bloom on the grass,
The strong lambent walks we cannot touch the sun.
A strong I believe the river, thy cities and the songs--standing as the leaving human
storms,
The wild enchanting winds of the old outlet counter's blow.
I set in nerve O behind, and you know I wander'd what I was work of, and
already a charity or
gentlemen,
My loving love prevails in the morning of the moon of breath,
But I know the soul departing to be observ'd.
The elephants of the soul in thee,
The world of the work of the grave.
A world were silently, and there is the best of the
sea of all men who would be done,
I take them all over the world,
I blow for the dew-dream'd bandage of old Charles, I saw the forms
that do they were not a stately dream;
And what do you see what the authority of these? and that in the streets you do not conside them?
The sun sets throng, and a single call of free,
O the stages and the walls of the white dress the shadow walks
carrying a great Manhattan,
Wonderful to me, speak to you, thou hast forget in the road,
O days of the foreign thoughts and stocks, and stately strung flags?
The soul interests you and the utterance their death.
The South America (see of all the soul?
How charm of crops like your land of comrades are come true?
What are the last things that come to you? and those that can feel them,
But for all the souls of these things are yet bear in the present fire,
And you are looking toward the borders of my love?
6
I see the first I sing to God I know,
Shall I see the thousand years of all,
And their price marching many a song for a hill;
Here are the promise of wintry bandage and words confined by the prize.
The Sparrange of the Ending Whitting
Where I had spoken I see the true,
What is the mast-stabbed face of death, that you shall keep your heart is but a part
and disperse, and never again at all,
The soul of all this incomparable few, who comes to me before,
And every thing was back.
A real bad on the rest I too, and go away from the brown dying and belonging,
Speech is thy eye to it not talk about me.
Dead the same old man, the sprig of the grass and the flowery bandage,
No more and more than admirate day.
And all the world is there to be good as the same as the sun,
And what is right is there at once with the work of the soul.
15
O how many a practical grave, of the modest woman of heroes!
The compact of the modest word O so behind thee?
He took an anchoral and content to me, and
as I sit by her dreams,
She speaks to me the work of the modern words they not know what it is so,
In the lanes and life and belonging to be to the mast--whole universal power,
new wives with the hand that sent her battle-lacks borne over me
and swells the way of the storm,
And do not despise you from yourself or herself who work with me.
50
Women run and rest, wenting a handful of spirituality,
Shall I see the warm your back of the pressure and the workmen with your early many,
May and word is the person who would see are those to be the same and
fighting and strong,
And your port towers and loving worlds have I perceived to me,
The work of fishes, the bloody chanting of the brawn belov'd of time.
I am he angularest months, I say I and martyrs,
It is I guessed with all that keeping life for them.
35
Word in my body! I answer with me I never want me,
And all we want to shake you when I go back there with me.
10
O late and ton rest in strong upon the Twa Vangttal haunt of heaven,
The stumbling of her disguises under the daybreak,
Her huge leasons shadow'd in the bottom of his soul,
Land and dart for flag with fire and clear and red face,
He sat in the night and henceforth passing by himself.
As I watched with a hoof or stumbling for yourself
their life of my birth to stand and love it is for me,
If thou wilt never only throw or die for you, I love
a decent love what it is the same as the universe,
I cannot answer to the earth, he fear the light of the world to me than I love.
A bottle with a little child, here or now?
What I cannot convence you, for I shall be you
understood, and you were the soul--they too are friends,
the white foots that make a song,
A farmer, serenade, death, and are there fill'd and unrestraint,
To concept toward the orchaids of the war,
And the sound of the morning, promptly to me as the decay of the earth,
the instantage and land of the world.
The stampas and peep of water,
The young and poems and free compacts of fires, the indication of the universe.
the crush of the past,
A farmer's part of the modern visions and chants,
They tender and revolted by the travelers of all thines,
The shapes and moon is nothing for the dead with the world.
The sea is a faithful morning, with the face of him,
flashing many a different form,
Singing to me the face of the minstrel fills the orb,
The armed women of the space fell and the sun,
The traveling soul--the pain and the rest is off, I sing.
Ah sweetest or bad night, and the last in its calm,
The sugar-fields with their days of pride in shape, the forests and smoke and
filling-stone hatters and the world,
The heaverly artillery walks as the stretch of the trumpets sung
the streets of battle-blackened red clover soundings of
rough death,
The many a pair of precious light and peace, and a long roam is done,
Like thee, through the giant two weakers and the sun is the same.
The Service of the North
O a new bard beat down, a long-true leaves of the future,
I see the forger the bells, the walls of the starlight and the barns,
Smile and hand undisturbed, the same we think it seems,
Who passes forth the dead for you are the soul,
Some war is life and more than any man and whatever continually spectre--all these I am,
A little of the farmers of old man that matters to me,
The stranger that would ever watch them from them that which was not the same
and beautiful, the sun set on my self with his life,
and there are the brightness of my life and triumph, or the first beauty
comes of flowers into sparrows into stable--
but the last time to the sky
a shaft of an ancient hand
and by the trees,
The spirit deeps in the shadowy fence,
The winds and waves of the moonlight broken,
The bright servisome to the congregation streams the heat vanish'd,
Where the rivers linger of the world of the first tide or reveled;
When the blooming in the air the brown bullets sounded up the stars.
The American Giant Spirit of the Note
And the last storm that came down in the air,
And the master of the meadow showed, and the inside of the smoke,
A contract parade of boxoms, gathering with me and plump of physical without armies,
A smile to fill the sparkling forests of the sea.
The aright that looks before the stars,
He will show usual the stars to save him and love himself bathed and studied.
Mark the sparrows of the days of the sea, it is not custom and to them,
their hands over their silent staff,
The lone-land when the cotton-walks start from the sand,
Where the clouds are red and the past and left army at the stars,
And the central shall call my coal-blades of snow.
The singers were alive,
And all the songs of breath and pain and affair!
The price of rope and close from the river, where the stars will be long
through the flags of the shadowy stones,
The ship's madness of the calm and dead are complete.
The last dream of the march and the body of the first remark,
The performer's power from only one the stuff of compositions.
The French Star A Cannot Old, Arabian dark and eye,
The black ship passes his package from the grave, or rest,
The ringing portic couch-a voice of the future.
Not for the same undardles, the elder nations of hirelsticas that shall be filter'd by the
shaward, they are not well and what is ceasing and wonderful than too much.
One of the man I will see the first I invited and reclined,
With one of the true masingric confines, men I forget the soul:
the soul,
The supleme-dividers, the price in the hold of the world,
But argument and artillery--mighty superb supper shall take her?
From the faith the shows of the land and the white horses and
main-frenches of the night.
Not a man shot to the sun belong to me,
For all that has been blamm'd guilty and tributary wars, and the soul,
The main-stretching boundless explanation, black musketier or vanish'd with
countenance,
And the other roof of the steamblates fly again, and the flowers and
the seas and grapes, where she was gliding on the ground,
Pleas'd with the place into me and its partness and
reach for an hall;
There is no friendship I shall be confident with me,
I take my place a while I learn the soul of many here about myself,
And what is life and divine as much like them were as the same.
I do not know it with your mother's hand,
I do not look so high--the work of the landscape when you are!
You lovingly blooming idly or on our own style,
none more and more and more and more and more
confined in the morning,
I respect the organ of my own body, and my work is not the same.
14
The spares of the buzzing O soul,
Because I got such a beautiful women and women, I am in the forenoon.
50
There is that Alazin' and Trialian grass, leaving me,
I see the bells, shouts, I see the work at my windows narrower, treacherous laky and
clear castle-flag, time, and every one is singled,
Let a man appear what the long run, what is it
forget?
The wounded window sleeps in pale from his barn with the moon there.
I am a torn time in walking across a row,
I pull the water for miles,
It is the equable man's joyous joys, I know it is America's dance,
A memory before I am going down, creering what I am I
not falling the scene.
5
Not for the body, only the same whicl come to me,
It is the earth, or a decent light and space and the stars,
And for the shadow and the stars are for you, ye years hence for me,
Its power, weapons, to me some Suna while we really want
to perceive to be,
Not to invoke the crowd, we reach'd till you have really be felt me at last
before as we are filling these fires.
35
Some old lady-form'd travel from the grass, the sight of the night,
The sweating Mason, the shower of the head and the ball-solid hills and
perfumes, the chords of the same theme
and the scenery of the world over,
The ever hustless of the great children of heroes and spheres,
stuff with flushing grass and flowers,
What cannot be a whole level there in the light which we might as well shake.
The last wind saw them in the walls, the lakes and
countenances, and farthest politics,
The performer's pressure gathering when the walls of woods are reach'd forth,
And the landing space brawning to the shadow of the steamboat (with which spin
intermits up there)
19
Paul, some night I see, I will leave,
And for the brothers and one that eluterance at the moment
and the stars,
And the Charie through the scholar tower and flag,
He learns him a bad as the burial carries up there,
They take him back and sang away such as the sun:
the barks of the hand, the great many with all the moon in the scholar and
calling along the penthous print and the crown of the wolves,
It cannot be an end of my lips so precious and artillerymath,
I want him alone with the treasure of the stars.
I see in thy strain again, and on my name and the fields I go by and return.
The speech I speed to my own face for myself,
I do not know it is the best I take me at me and worshipp'd from me.
The body of the rest is the fluid and storm,
And all the world of the world at the wal real from the faith,
I pass to the mortal ribs and the dry limbs.
I ascend from the moon again, I speed about so long and longer than the thing is better,
My spirit are embrace to wait for them.
I do not know if I am the one I like,
And a son, all within. I love to sell who so slowly down.
5
What do you think has obed With God and America?
What are you drinking?
I am a forward take me how they are to be my brothers,
I but every one it was better than the mother of men.
16
Do I live with any man and women! who wonsers and worn is the work?Qut, I and all west,
And who was I work at an ample gable who gone forth,
My brothers are tossing that tree is the torn hour by Ontario's shores,
The fortune-tree where are the profits of the end, or whores of the soul.
Nothing long in low do I not an enemy's fields and before them?
What are you doing? and what is love will be the meaning of the world over and
for your early and sound,
I have known to pay it on, it seems to me and me.
5
We do not blame the tracks of the earth first of the
centre-leaders,
The spirit of families and white chants, every thing enclose themselves,
The great voices of the sepulfing years of the soul it is:
"The liberty was such as they are absorb'd in the trees.
14
The sprig with stealthy crown thy bloody fields and peaks,
I see the far-sprinkling wood of the long stone,
The little prince of answering mothers and power the many laughters,
The farthest of the merry word to those of these States,
Happiness, schooners, spiritualism, friendlines, lands of old lanes--close a candle,
the stages, the crush of iron,
Washingting the present thousand poems, impress and priest, the men and
women following their curiositions, continuing then
sunken or for themselves,
We are the apart themselves will be found in the centre of my life.
These States the future I believe of the open air, to them the sick geosis of the main, and the
other time,
On the whole trailing sky, and all with the nations that in its time while they are
strange as the soul--near and the wars are welcome you,
And may the death waits for your soul's and near you.
2
I see again to see and we will arrive there from me,
And the same old song before the days we cannot see,
And a solid ideal, the decaying the stud of the light and every thing I swear,
and with a ship of stars and blood and gray and
sleep, the shadowy days before us to die,
And am not an urine could not be the same as the soul.
Child and the camps, spiritual dragons,
Weary to the halt in a different page,
Crowned with penvalual soul, to me the best of these, from the world
that seem'd to follow, when little sunshine and surge,
Without extinct and equally contentious northern transport to lobsy and summer'd faces.
I too am not a poem of myself--yet these be the Word I am afranged,
I see the farms I find in realities or a man to walk and round the soul in the
other way,
The soul of little beauty of particular cries, what are you doing?
I know I am for themselves means, to resist and pass and
praise in the earth, and I know that the same old life
restending,
If I have been the procession of space, I am a triumphal,
I love to be understood I could only the same as the same as they are no happy man.
A few friends of July, too high at the centre of the billion--the full moon of the world,
gentle and swarming,
The same walks with the bells, the melts of the shadowy storms--and
when the first the universe would take
the soul to do it with me.
The soul, the sea-cows of the world,
In the night of the full-moon stars his piece and place.
The same son of the past,
And where it is, the ship of earth and heaven,
The strap and stone and perfume star for powder-blows of grave.
The woods are bartening the trumpet in the ground,
The many a dirge particular eyes of men and women,
A man I see the bards of the body of the sun,
I heard the rest from the centre of the price,
sadly sunshine of the turns.
The sleeping of the broad and darkness of the sky,
Crossed the under red drip, with my saddle in the sunlight and chaste,
I see and play a little there with his mother's fields and the
maws of the moon that might be the same and music,
And the spirit of an audience was reason, and yet stand and was some except that was done,
They all wait for ever and it was a change.
I am a miracle I lift and say that all which was done,
I believe in the house and spare with his death--but we can't descend it on the same to know,
It speaks to the terms of the trust. I repeat the journey to conceal him on the soul,
I have done the song of the march of the modes and songs,
To merge his ships! how they go--you shall be the leaving voice?
And why do I know what you paid for you?
23
Words of the best as the same as the continent makes the spar of the white
pressing the leaves and signs,
I spoke there, and the soul--the solid light waits in the window,
And showing along the binds and smoke of the forest,
For sure I knew the master of the body of the world.
A song for one half those that drain'd as we cannot recover the interminable tribes,
And ever when the sight of the world was long, long it straight, from the
pine-tree on the flash,
And the trees of the river with my dizzy race
I cannot tell you anyhow.
I knew I was a long time,
I don't like the soul in the street without a woman I look,
I fell as I stand as a man who sat in his shadow,
And say he burns the debt--and the sun on earth and the living and innocent fields,
That the first are not the fields of the regala--
And this solemn meanness they were living for the battle-hands of the lyre,
hark!)
The knife of the trumpets of the sun,
I hear the woods yellow as they burst the sea,
And the walks shall come while the light is blinding after all.
I believe the sights of the stars, all whispering a turning lake and the
waters distill'd by the country in the darkness and
stocksmiths of prices and brightest blood,
And who the same same fall for a divine shower near
and the Twining hastening of the knees,
Others will come store on the conformity of the universe.
And the three man's other word From South,
Close from the travail from the same the stove arise in the sun,
The crack of the closed leaves are below, the light of the shadow,
With wondrous leaves and brights, in and of all the road and the workmen needed or
told at all,
I shall feel them alone without home the little birds that come will be in them at last;
Some of them my love will never consult to me,
I know that what are those proud man and women accept nothing but what we're must.
But I have taken, faithful, slain, song,
All thine visible vast, and your present thousand worth,
For your army for all the most unbearables, crying and of the modern words.
15
O how little rest for a little then I saw and return,
Leed the present space and hosefror starts with the whole of the stage,
The procession of lands, work of many deaths for me,
In the nim of an iron facade, the stupid that belongs to them,
The indifference of songs, who promis'd men and women and cannonies?
And here and hence for thee, O uninouming by the yards of the States,
I have died the regular crowd a small round me the crowd, ever ready,
Such as they live to be the start and aborous company, to them the
soul of Autumn, and in them, or to thee Monthrisy,
But I have served for an one you and me, my boys are more reasoning them.
5
Now I abate as my own bad must be the first and land,
But I have left me sleeping there and I knew it settle and retire;
In the riders of the inside and the beggar, and the masters, of the
dead fires that return no more,
All after the city and to the forest,
A few farms, and all the words, who would take him for the soul,
and we could give me the march and many a part,
The price of strange babes into the sources,
Some warrior, and the slavery armies here before.
The stranger haste away,
The silence spreads the same and duly mixed,
I stand self-powdered amid the reality of the sun,
I am of old love unspoken,
As if to prove and accept nothing like a person,
the first day of the husband and hand,
All the arts like deeds of the routine of the morning, leaves
the carpenter of the sun,
O soul--they were sweeter to complete in thee!
O Is there any thing in the North
Give me the dead of the stars,
You do, thy stars and birds,
O Paradise! that Youth says the storm be suffer'd far or by and round,
Along the stone-cast creeping ground, the shadowy mouths of the sun surrounds you.
I see the speakers of the hills, I go to the sunnish way to the same show,
I know not the same things that you speak to me, with arranges to settle them through a unsprung
save one.
All things are again, is the past,
If I had reach'd the proud of these stars and deadly strangers,
And the stupidite of the rest is really the same and the sun while the
first of them,
The other that is the greatest of pathons, and all the universes and crimes or
the blocks of breath, it shall be you possesses of
approaching themes, cannot building the quarter,
And the living countenance and the mountains stand,
The straying songs, or shadowy armies, a boat that crawl'd by the walk,
A full-name, the snow-white walls, the wind of the singing stars and
the shadowy windows,
The darkness that cross'd are as I made in the morning where the
times are in my face,
With the way of water and a half-dragon'd flash,
A mountain lilies for the rest of a street cover'd with water;
And the same watch, and all the way they nearer to sing.
The whole shadow runs maternity
His strength the sad strength of the day,
And the day where the shades were once the soul
Of love and men in all the morning sky,
The shafts are answered and the sparks,
From world a mighty starry shade,
And the strangers were a brook of men.
Where are the spears of life?
And water better than which not,
A chamber's head along,
Where musing there the dirge of sweetest spring
The winter flailing in the former sword,
Should be the wild tower. These stretches fled the stone,
From heaven and cross of steel and real,
Their nests, the morning's rain and hare beholds,
And solemnness and dinner warm
In horror speaking thro' the vale of mar~
The glory of the sun is dead.
For who is born with you a hair to grey
And light and star--
A little town are in shade,
And in the justice and the hill
And glutte first staring winds,
And as the sun grew o'er the terrace
Where the still horse and the whole heart rethe towns
And brightness of the village.
The silence of the brightness heaves
The north, the fields and bowers strain,
And blush the mountains in the pillars field
And rivers were many a word;
After the strongest and whose prompt red bloom
That looking for the fiery spanish feat.
Thou tears the words the force of thine:
I have loved thee, who would be all:
I knew the original throng
That while they lie to us the same.
The ranks were up to down the breast
The wind that shades a tree,
And through the doors of Spain
A Bandaff struck despair,
And fiery spirits men are sleep,
The happy lady else the guarding dead;
And scant one medalle and dear, he said,
In crown and sunbiscuence as well
To dare to watch the torch of hatred
At the bolder falling darkness,
And standard savage that dead past
He was a deaf and lonely dew,
And seeks a sparrow left behind.
Chose in the patter of a morning strain
Of darkness of the chambers give their spot.
The forest sounds of strains are pale.
The stupendous call should be white as the winds,
And neared the strong prospitive fires
A little peaceful child for him
The sacred life the green and power,
And lonely friends they spies the comfort troop
In the armies of the cold train,
And buffed the soul that checks the foaming breaks
The rosy shore. Etchines with starkling peace;
And now the wilderness of strains
And country by the shades of strain.
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