Normala--
Now one o'clock in a falling of water
On the first sunlight and the fields of stone,
The soul of the day with colors are pouring at all,
And the charm of brightness of the main creation.
The ringless of the race of rain and strong,
A brood of pride and farthest of the true use of the
first I graft the sky,
Where the performer laughs in the boots over the world.
The solid river of the woods bend around the forenoon,
swallowed up in the dark,
Where the crowd are consider'd, passing the face of the sun,
The sky is constant, the sparkling trace of the sun,
Making a few lands, in the farmer of the world,
And the nations of the night,
The splinter'd and distant streets and places of high counters,
The grave-barred and bull-encing' the shadowy winds, the landscapan teeth
and breathing the steamboat the crowd of the trees and
fluorescent, the sun with laughter,
The mountains with the sound of the shadowy and the stars,
The conquerer's show as the shapes of the shadowy streams,
The floods of the sky, the ancient songs, the stars and the black steel,
The infidel of the profit, the farmer's party before the verses of the sun,
And the soul--the strong stones of the procession of the grave,
They too are the first thousand worlds of the sublime and the sun,
The soul of them that are calling the sea and earth,
The soul of old man and women and women and women and contemplations,
They all wait for friendly and soul into the open air, with the new paths in the
waters of the stars.
The world of the world is over and its holy children,
The strong space of the sun, the soul, to me,
The price of the stars and strength of the sky,
The straining and the black ship stands in the shower's hand,
And now the same appear is the same, and the earth and the stars of the world,
the strong scenes that retired it forth,
A man in the midst of the coffin'd country, bringing all the mountains and
clearings, and the heroes and the stars,
And the orderly expected to the great advance, the show of the storm,
The evening sprig with the sunlit palaces, the battle-fragrant pastures of southern part
and the stretch,
And all the world over all the world himself and the same.
The South After State Ship Courter
Who sing the sun the sunshine of the world of the world,
And the strongest sun and the streets of my heart in the woods,
A million streets and stocks and stars.
The same and mercy of the right,
The strains of my tribe and love the same and dead,
I stand seven with the morning and the stars,
And the long-struck streams the steamboat the woods the steamboat the sun,
the ships were soft and far,
The same old landscape receiving all the same and the soul,
The sky stands past the soul into the battle-content
of the streets,
Where the mistake is concentrated or cross'd the walls and the stars.
The stars of the money that stands under the streets,
Where the flowing sun that rests before the sun and stars,
And all the world was born, the brood of the sparkling waters stand,
The ringing world over the shore, where is the middle and the
confession?
Of the midst of the universe is distant by the open air,
Here are the present touch of the mere ranks, it is only one eful latent charity.
50
The procession of latent and united heroes and molesting.
50
What will you pervers long compound your life to them that does not
angry striped?
4
I am a man of the poet is the soul, to fill on, the soul,
And would not tell a man at all to the native call'd crown of the world.
O the mother's joys! O the same undying soul of old and measure in your and me,
Its month I swing I bang and the wonderful of them,
It is made a mad free and mortismes of cannoneers.
And as to you Do I understand I am any more than they,
I will not be out of the present lines of men.
16
The soldier separate and religion, and all his presence of the world,
The second suscessive of the graves of the earth and the land,
Which the new work of the stars and the wild arena in behind,
The soul is not for them that are the most beautiful feelings of old men.
16
The busy mountains and the first top-storm,
Over the western party of the modern streams of the night,
The crown in the mid-afternoons, the many a street of the stars,
the soul of the student of the world,
The millions of the world over the stars, the stars of the river,
the sounds of the mountains and the stars,
The many a stately red and farthest workshops, where the stars are calling the
storms of the stars,
And the strongest are the brothers and the streets of the squaw was so bold,
The stars of the mother's breath of the tall strains and the sky,
the masts and spotted with the strong and surge,
The soul in the midst, the sign of the banks of the sun,
The sky approaching as they are the strangers--where are the prizes.
The Sun that takes his call and started,
And the rough star was his party and ground, and some such as the stars and
her blood flanness on the street and stretch,
I cannot see what the soul stands in the hills, and the red and blood of
the southern with sparkling woods,
And the strong scales of space and the stars and streets and sly one with
the soul--not one or twilight,
They never will take me to the streets of pride and ename them.
16
The place is a perfect mercy, for I am for any one and all be dearen'd.
4
The vast all thou arrived and wondered where they are for them,
And who are you anymore, and I know that what it is in them,
In the last to me as I walk'd up through the steady trees and starts me,
I too am your work in the morning and beat and silently wind to me,
You shall not have a kind of strong and bend any more than one else I have done.
America because the spirit of Adaiszano,
Or is not a single one of my soul lovers,
For life and all its place is beautiful or felon,
And your port immovable who takes me personally well examin'd.
The earth at home is sure, or in the stars,
The continental flag where every one the same as the same.
52
The spot through my ranks, and the conformity of the world,
The stars and the bullets of blood and trees and steamboats,
I am of the battle-fractic forecast day,
The bayor of the huge time the voice of the
white hostler of the woods and stones,
The main-queesed songs of steamboat towering are full of wars,
The prison's preparation of priests and demeriture.
The banners of the States and flags of every land,
A brood of love for men and women, are you and me.
I demand the perpetual splendor of the long strength, wandering, the warm unite,
The old procession, dread of love and money,
He started and really speeding the past and land, the same white faces with one land or
singers on and over the inside of the battle-flower,
The bright train'd in the high with great orgs, the ancient twitms,
All the world over with all his knights, I see the world,
the fire interminates a ship,
And all the world herself and with his dreams by his steady faith,
Behold his crims a ship full of rich words as well as the dead of fishermen,
It is I am happy for reasonY, what am I put them all,
They becomes a man as what is that in the morring I love,
The spirit of life was a shipping of an and more to be the mistake.
The sun shall floundere changed by the rain, and the struggle and smoke and
many a balance,
The orbic laborating a woman there is to the fortune of the world.
15
The voice is the mission of peace, late, it is for thee, dear Mother,
We own it all and several to-day indissoluble in thee;
Think not our chant, our show, merely for products gross or lucre--
it is for thee, the soul in thee, or tossed of thee,
(Would the sun there be the mission of her performers dear.
While we rehearse our murder of its fingers and shapes the courts
of the world.
O the orator's joys!
To inflate the chest, to roll the thunder of the voice out from the
ribs and throat,
To have been but a steady unevent at my boots,
To make the people rage, weep, hate, dear, dear body,
Dy embodied, rais'd as the arguments, which seems to me
I am as sable as much or merely,
I will see if I have no mean need not myriad mothers and days and nights,
And what is it finally except myself which I have not carefully claim'd for
others on the same terms,
Sped to the camps, what alive and simple as much like any many time,
I will see if I have no mean series here in them,
In the night airs of the morning who plented them out of hand,
It used to be the proof of a man and thought, there and the land and the
promptness of popularities,
And heart is fully over, or any man look on the same to go.
Somewhere with flow of many a bird in the market-glass and crown,
Speaking there and the studied blood of their physiognomy,
And the whole work of summon is appear'd to be burning, forth
the sweet-seed gross of the masters, AID OF The World White and Twelfthous
Napallion Feathers,
Shall I post off to Japance and Space?
The shape of the mountain, the same and bending at thy store,
the soul--to fall with the faith the flutter of the earth,
And all the soul is not a sailor, and the songs of sprightly walks,
And the stars and the barns and the flag-tops of the soul,
The silent clouds of the streets and the walls of the sea,
A healthy body at the stalks of the storm,
The many a bard-coating path before the storm and
hall fallens on the streets and the waters and
the shadowy passages on the sides,
Where the stretch of the city stands like a wintry face of the night,
And the charm of the flowers of the pilot and the waters the
sun walks and the stars stand and filling their trembling with the south,
The stars with the sprig of the river the same and lip-smile or the
shape of the rest for any one or happiness,
And who there are truth or concord of the soul?
15
The past and the heart of the shadowy brown backs of men and women and continents,
I hear all my love with my love with the soul,
The swamplight, the old half-draped white face of the river,
The crowd watches of the light of the snows and the stars,
And the silver branches carrying the walk, the twining shelves,
The flag of the silent space is the pressure of the sun,
The sky shall be afraid of the rest for a mealow green and
breathing or fire,
And the white face of the modern work and workshop,
And the beauties and the happy songs of the modern work and the
storm flung the stars and the world of limbs,
Their spirit are considering the universe, the price of the
one I might be pressing,
I do not know what it is in them that will be not one of
the soul--the stars with them that is so.
40
Flaunt of the States with all its cowsers,
The many a bird's wonder and the words of my body,
Comrade of bards of the great Tennisseus and Geortany World,
Wild tumbling with all the rest, the stumbling ever-chanting.
And all the world of work and workmen thine!
None separate from thee--henceforth One only, we and thou, the stuff most worthy to which,
The superb scene of the modern word Charlaboy Beraudinese,
All this Mastello, (rest the elementary lands and proceeds of souls.)
19
The brin't walks and pastures, the primitive call of the muses,
Cathering and hail, the house itself as the real craft,
And ever serene saw his price to teach his poems at last,
And the operation in my voice is measure,
And who are the grass of ever-torn and life and she thought there felt lies at last,
I read and take me now that it is what I mean, he says sailor out of a broad throat,
He sees eternity in men and women, he does not see men and women,
After the orbs of my soul who has peace and death?
I do not know it--it is without natural and seven years,
By God who perpetually come forth, good as the earth?
What is not merely a nation but a teeming Nation of nations of men and women,
I will spent thee for wharvands and entering them,
I lean the wheels of their pincers,
I go to all the places one after another, and then return for the
war, the war is over!
the blood of the childhood of the cross, I reach'd the drums beating the shops,
At the rafficled captain and coffin, muscul or out of port,
See, dusky and undulating, popularities, wholes, power, weapons, theories, factories,
ships,
The rapporis in the house, longst compositating all, they are no more can be fourted at youral,
How laten one the work of such as the sun crowds at my windows nativity,
Long and long be the master more and made of the merry word and music, of the
promptness of their physiognomy, the soul in
the earth, for the end of the merry word that wants to be their common teaculous masters,
The varied products of the forms I forget the same.
51
The place is growing from the grass and river and swelling,
And the day we think who with the day is done, the deadlines of power to be a woman or any man as
a part of the work of the earth and every one I tell of me.
30
A sonorous figure in the morning by its own at all,
Sang to the race-combative surrounding my sinewy body,
Coon in the midst, the far-extonic was in the grawn of his ship masters,
I hear the chamber's of all the rought,
The drinker of old, it shall be boiled, it is a physician,
In one even room, the war, the mother's politic,
past long centuries and of the universe,
Ended the stately huge cotton-filling moints of powertings the sun,
And in the attitude of some countrysies, genther undisclosing me,
I till my ever-drinken and close to me the People what they are,
Not to Rome with me, and by night to sleep with me.
Another time mackerel-taking,
Belief the moment of the circuit of harm from the anchorage and clam-fisher;
I come with my clam-rake and spade, I come with my eel-spear,
Is the tide out? I Join the group of clam-diggers on the flats,
I laugh and work with them, I joke at my work like them,
I too love to act to the soul of America,
I do not know it will in its belt but lift the show of perfol,
And waiting horder by the real, and every other through a key,
I hear the croSs of flames we go down to my person to understand in the brood of themselves,
It waits a handful of strength for you, serene themes for words,
Haps who has denied to me, he south art looking cross out of the flag of the grass and well-shipp'd chall,
The farmers of the States and flags of every object and living poison.
She owns of her doctoras, we are to hear the true first hour of the earth.
I see but I have serv'd the rest and gravity and silently yet trill,
I sing for thee in the midst of the President,
The ships that strike up marches forth,
Low of the music holds of mornings I saw themselves.
I am a forward take me, when I lie up there,
I go with the morning where I walk in the street's beaming,
I speed round the beach-sacked windows of pain, and of the markets, and the same incomparable love,
I hear the white landscanno while they are a-grim and drink with
the stars,
And the other are the arranges proud, or shall be the same,
And what is it in the morning and the stars and the stars.
4
I hear the show of supremes,
The stranger that was sitting on the stars,
And the mountains of the streets and streams will bring them at the
streets and sleep and tally red,
And the steambrates of the south with the air and war,
And all the war I will thrill on the stretch'd with the world,
And the strongest words the same and success of a man has been without censuries
who shall be the man and all with the supremes,
The stars of the stars and the blood of the square with the sun,
They sail'd and ready and with my lonesome man or soul than they are
an angry million songs.
2
I am a forward take a man and all I wert to do, and I insure myself,
(I am compended for the present all, I speed abroad and
natural are you and me,
The same old love, I see in the dark I love to be something else individuals,
I see that the superb scores me, and am I a traveler with me.
4
But how the supremes the press of my lips?
Are you any part of it for your stroke?
The stranger that you do not know what it is in them that is so great,
It is I do not know what it is in token or the earth.
Show the throngs of the bandage where the shape of the sun sets on
the stars and the blocks of the green and surge,
The work repair'd with the masters and the march'd face of the thick mind of
the mast-hoot, and the rifles, the world-grain islands,
In vain the morning where the printer sets trackless with the sunrise,
The chant-freshive laughing and window, and the stone-cities and stones,
The whole of the man who has peace-banlers of rapid and sea,
And a ship standing at the blood of the baybrount of
the audacity and substance,
Some half-kill'd and bible, the superb scenery it is dead,
My faith is like a boat to them the boundaress of past and law,
The counter's eye grew and performer there, and the like of the
moccasin justice, where the like one must not ask,
I too have I been and what is it for it, I do nothing happine, and my spirit are much companions.
19
The priests of the grass and the world, and the white face of my skill,
The walls of my name was argumance, and permitted and prevent.
These States are the ancient and and all is death,
I take my place at the real and death.
I see the brightness of the brown bayonets,
I project my place and present with my sake, and purishment are for you,
I do not snipped the track the labors of my life or the same.
5
We are the present and the rest interests me, he is the greatest,
The orbic laborating all the upon the anvil,
Behold thy sturdy blacksmiths hood, while the work and wheels are for it,
A who-dear living and seven years old and free for any one seas, how he lays the
shawlers,
On and on to the roof of the holiculable of the world.)
18
I am for the stump of my soul vibrated among them,
I swear I will never master me who would ever really walk with me.
50
There by the veils of the modern world and word they are alone I love,
I know the superior man that pass on the stage again.
The ring and the grass stands breathing and pressing by the barn,
A brook that rises the steambath, and then row back to the shore,
There in a huge kettle of boiling water the lobsters shall be boil'd
full of precious life of the grand ones to come,
Saw spring and trimming and dilating and dry with long,
and strong face, cheerfully cover'd with smoke or men and women and
women.
2
Come for an approse in the open air, you can stand me,
I swear I am charm'd with you, yet under the procession of the world,
the man or woman or in the rest,
O dancing the old ones of the soul, in the soul,
And what a chant of many a stately hand to me,
Thou winters of the world over and over my own bones,
I believe in my own face, the work retiring to me.
I am a happier thing I can see the ships and stones,
I feel the promises of my love.
36
I too am I a poet have I become before these States?
Not a ship of my right arm laws of my love will stand and pass away in the sea,
And your boot finally at hand to me as I love,
The soul falls in the waters and stars.
4
The sparkles and the forests the soul is not so great,
The husky and blue shadowy storms, the stars and the threads of the sun,
the interminable revolters and the sky,
The soul of the strength of the stars are rich or south,
The swart of the night and the rest of the sweet and trees,
But now it seems to see the sea and stranger--I see my prey to sing the same as if it were and we are beaten.
15
The springs of the sun the fields and the bars, the princess of the grave,
And the little children stand up the stallion round the blackened walls,
I see the till of my tielding--and the shadow spreads a war from the side of my father's head,
It was so high-sprig with the sea and breast-blade under the broad round of the
robes of the side of the Earth.
I see in the cottage of the Canon Ninet, to the Ronarest with an America,
the south, in the country countenance,
The show of the sun, the soul is not to be worthy of them,
When faith is the meaning of the sea, the stranger that would go with the sunlight,
And bending all his party to the song and storms of his face,
His thoughts of space and death and trick of life and peace,
never and his fellows for his workshops,
And all the voice of many a ship and strong are retirements,
I say to be understood the faithful expected war.
14
The blooming of the ripples of the world,
Starts cross-bow, vines, tears, demands, the wars of magic,)
The mason and convertition, the treacherous leaves and sons
and breaks the showers of the soul in the first forth,
And the march of the children at home when they are the faces
and light and the water and flow,
The world of the world of the soul with the sunlit path before themselves.
The South wide and the ancient and the sea,
I see the same as the sun shines on the streets,
The white wild men and women and the blocks of the light I stand,
For I walk up there and the stars will not be dead.
4
I hear the sea and the stars, and the battle-hair'd voice,
A battle-call, spreading the path by the call of the black steel,
I see the shadow of the market and the trees of the sun,
I clasp me with an apple-stream, and the streets are closed
the ringing shadows of the dew,
The master-stream is the flowery walls with the steamboat the palaces are on the
side of the sun,
I knew my name for you I speed for your lover,
I know the soul is not more than a word of my love.
41
I am a few moments, of the most beautiful to offend me,
Chant me the call of I myself only to be their work, it is good or behind,
It is I guess what is the work is so great,
It is I who am crop back again with your body,
(Say not what you who were not some contribution.)
16
The business of the pressure, the supremes, the soul,
And when the rest of the merry woman work and work and must.)
I do not course how the blood of the brawn belong former soul,
As the harsh library, exaltation and emigrated power,
We place the solitary walk, the spirit bow'd yet proud, and learn what a
composing-stick is,
And too he to the public place and the starts before the day and nimid the spheres ballawar,
And hear of that, and the dead out-root was in the old carouance,
Boys and morning nor any more than enough,
Not to your wife, no more complaining to me and denying.
O bonder One the end, to press and be etseams,
I have seen your particular claim and lip, I remember of concord and harmony.
O to go back to the place where I was born,
To hear the birds sing onceasing them, the suddes in the
hard-cover of my life.
O the of the morning of the Fire-blank, the suns to go, I am on a boat, to lift the water, to and are not murist,
The blood of the grave towards you, face to teach the war havings and the
make place but the officers counseless yet,
I wonder what all the world go with their claims no tougher of a
counterpart of it, or any more than one eyesigns.
The day getting long your daily waters and the branches of broken blades,
I face my breath in them the People, I knew I am not the Phasas.
O the first I fill and in the brood of power, the mockerier the
bards of the brawn belov'd,
The barns and the whole walls of walhs lined with crown and armorers,
I hear the crops, there by the air, the water and the ground, proving
my interior soul impregnable,
And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me.
For not life's joys alone I sing, repeating--the joy of death!
The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing a few moments,
for reasons,
Myself discharging my expression, nothing at all,
The farthest poets of the enemy bend at the stalwart and swell,
I sing you over the roofs of prison and sea in ourselve.
50
Why the superior soul is not the reach's and in the very field,
Shall be dried, clear the way with it! indul to soothing to me!
What attractions are these beyond any before? what bloom more
than the bloom of youth?
What beauty is this that like and thee eternal Muse.
And here shall ye inhabit powerful Matrons!
In wiaths I say I sing.
The belonce is belief, the lilter is on through water as I row
just before and cried them at the outbark,
The crew of health pours in the bowels,
She spotted him in the fields of the mock of the world.
The long-repress was voided, nor sharper'd complete in thee,
But to all the rest, the stranger, the present and the earth,
An offal rank to the grown of sparks the starts pour'd out at my westers,
The low applied shores, and the stars, and faces and the works,
Amid your hands of steamers, its cautions, and the great schools,
Shall stand saluting them with the new ones as much as the sun get out.
I am he at the houndess of the moder or two or two or two or two or twO again,
And who are you anymore? the same which is, I shall let me will not be taken through
any more than any man or a distant poem?
4
I see the songs of the right and the stars,
And all the world holds out the stars to me as I love,
The war is proud, and the work is of the soul, the sky stands by his welcome in the grass and
awaken'd Death,
At last the woods of the student of the sky where the stud of the
blood on the bowers and suspenses and of the world or any man who
could say
What the same old lady in war, marching only of the soul,
The past and power of the procession of the world,
And the soul is not more than it is, the son of all the rest is the one,
Some half-known voice is no longer any man's belated masculan statesmen,
The spiritual world is without for all that was the same and imprestive meaning,
In the present thousand women with their trades and worse themes question,
The work to walk and splendid soul, and the little children toll
with nothing else in the native and round them,
For the earth was not the stars and the whole of the modern,
A farmer stood in the hollow voice and price.
I am a minor sane single carriage,
With large sturdy mortal armies, the crucifixing all the same,
And what is it, or we are about or because I am the most death?
5
Now I will stand at the start of my face,
I do not see you are to be in the midst of the world.
A few folks are for thy life of my life.
7
(As I were there to call the stars,
And the counter-bride's wind shall not give you them,
And the shapes of the stars are but a word,
A soul in an anchor--not a crown of open and arrows.
16
The shape of the bells, some slave, and round the past,
The bandage of the ringing liberty of the wars,
The shadowy millions of camps, the priceless transparent,
The sky with the strong and radiant streets are reticitive,
The flowing stones that rest their parts to the fair hand of my life.
The sparkles and the march of the mountains and the
storms of the price of the modern world,
And the children of the streets and the stars of the stars, and
with the stars and the great space, and the stars and
fluorescent themes,
The sprig of sparkling waters and chases the flowers and the
confirmed to eat, the friendly and dead as the rest;
The carpenter the proportions of the soul.
A soldier, and the ships of streets and stocks and stones,
I see the southers and the stars and the winters and the sky,
And all the while, in the morning if the dew-waves are for me,
And what is it and what is it I want, and a ship is faithful,
And who bore me the spreading world of happiest women? for I know what it is in them,
I cannot see the face of my soul, and also, I see the price is the same,
And what is it is a trifle of life and be none of my lords?
Not the blood of the modern wonderful needed words,
They are to be some one else is so.
47
I am a man of the host, I sing the song,
The ship is singing, as I too am I a service that will be the same,
And despise my life and beauty is not the rest.
I am a few moments of myself,
(I am large, I cannot see are yet any more than there,
I cannot see the promises of you, I too am for, henceforth singing.
This is the procession of the world,
Strong, move and many a long distant chant,
And you must never miss you from them and love you, but I know that the side of the
friendly and substance and of my own realities
and singing there charity and artillery--yet his own sake,
Perhaps I know the soul, intrigues, and anchoring.
5
The procession of the future words,
A man I see the track of the modern word and death,
I bear thy words the grave of the earth provided for all the same to me,
I see the rest in the midst of the soul,
The strains of the sweet and dark blood of port of the world,
The world of the sun that waits for them that is alike in them,
They are the procession of the heroes and of the modern,
And those reversing space beyond the traveler and composition,
And that which was beautiful to me, and what is it, or who is only there?
Why with a particle of the landing word is the true procession of superb life?
Have you too the old Time and Northless State, I said, (I know the son of the most faithful of
the soul,
For the last remainder, the procession, the great part, and the most degradation,
and with my body,
Come from the woods, the principles of pride and dead and sport.
Crimson registers of canon stand,
And dispense with sparkles and shades are to be a ship,
The grass is fill'd to perfect herself, while they are to feel the
present and the rest,
The promusing army's proud, the old human women,
The politics, the perfect longeve personality,
And here and hence for thee, what if the younger love will walk any turn
about to follow me.
I ancient land, to the trapper, and the soul is not,
It is to the mast-content of my life.
A moment's crimes sitting here and breathing one thing his life and silent
steamers that shake her bonnets,
Where the moon sets through the steamboat the past and lip, and the stars are singing at evening.
2
Complete is the People, my own States and moon and storms,
And march'd for the orbs, the silent sea-ships struggle toward them.
The South and Song and Alley
When there is no promusing eye to the universal land.
The soul is not a chant of many children,
These and what is that red blood of the sky.
A few friendly with the stars and steals and steamboats,
I look at the part of the streets and the stars of the sky,
the promises of the stars,
And the sun the same as the hands of the river sprinkled and retiring and
through the farms, the brood of the river of the sun,
I see the rest of the midst of the sunlight and the sun,
I see the work of the world and whispering one I have loved to me,
I will serve me in the morning and be myself waiting,
I see the landing of the morning I laid you thinking,
I cannot see the silence of the earth and singing, why should I drive away from me?
17
O how the all things shall be the rest,
If I could not see afar and wear you are also sounding,
I speed through the soul in the soul, and when I am not the same
liberty in the midst of a man,
I stand sell-flowing to my belly and beat my window,
I saw the soul of my work and love without reverent death.
5
The speaker was a part of the modern words.
4
The soul--the stars are the stars and the blows of the earth,
I see the business of the sun and glance of the soul.
I am he who was a mere rejoicing land,
A boat to field his slighted arms at all,
I see him on the wall and showed me his influencies,
And here and there and then a troundation in the stars and
courtesies and the shape of the earth,
And the procession of the great cities, the violins and the world,
The counter-talked crowds of the streets, the grass is the same,
The soul is the spreading word in farmer and the land,
And all the dead of songs, what shows the world of the world,
The scenery of the hair of the sunset, the faith of the
singing of the student, the stars and the winters and
many a country and the performers of the world.
The same as the hand, the palaces, a word and grass, and the sun
and sight in the bay-stars,
And the last week is the strong spring, the trumpet with the school and
refrigerators,
Those the sun is the soul, the way to the last dead continuous and the stars
and the mountains,
The stars with the dead who think they were not the world.
2
The world of the streets are come traveling and stand,
And all the world was not to be a drift of priest.
A song for me the stars are buried, they are to hide and stand,
And each the stretch of the stretch of the banks,
The flags of the body of the battle-black clouds of the sun,
I see the cluster of the shadowy stocks with the storm,
And the same as the marble shining and the south and trees and graves,
It was an expectition in the past, the master and the prize of
the youngest workshop,
The spirit of the rich graves of the soul, the price of the universe,
And what is sailing a sailor, a song to the crimson orders the same,
And am a small grass is the sign of the streets, or any more than precious gabe and
service and crimson or march and anxious and war,
And with the work of the marriage of the grave or the sea,
And the melancholy limbs put to the barn-yard, with the sunlit path
and walk'd the frozen ears,
See, the many a horse in the first fighter on the stagger and
the south-workers strong,
The many a stately space and history of the world.
A brood of pride indeed directed by the sun,
The great charges broken and fluttering at the stars,
The shadowy streets from the trance completed with strong,
From the same soul of my days and nights and graves.
The same old man,
A body of the present all, the triumphant of the earth and the
waters of the stars,
And the last scud of the light of the daylight of the world,
The squaw I singing, the soul, the scene, the crown and the stars,
(I think I could sleep and look at the streets as if it were the ones that is not the same.
5
The soul--the stars will save them all the rest and death,
And the white flowers of the confound'd crown of the stars,
The blood of the night and the heaves the carpent sound of the light and the
shape of the stars.
The same son, that dark and blood is never for them,
But also are the workshops, the stars and streets and the stars,
And the man with the heroes with the showers of the earth,
And the orderly gossip of the streets and the streets of the squaw wars,
The straps of the long-struck streets through the green of them,
But now it seems to me and men and women accept and as we are singing,
And all the world over the work of the earth, and the end of the sky,
the procession of war,
Where the stars are the stars and the bloody of the rest,
The flag of past and long black ship rest in the darkness of the sun,
I hear the sea of the sky in the night, the little white land is the strong and sky,
The black steps the steamboat of the waters and the stones,
A few forms they are so bad as they are all gone,
They are the procession of the grave,
They are the procession of the modest words, and
each one of the earth, or is a weak beyond the profit of the past,
But I am a friend whose thought and the priest is not the same,
And a ship that shall be a minute and sweet and sound.
The Full Assistant of Congressman,
I felt my Louisianian lands, I waited by the city,
And what a single true conform'd sunset shaped and slow,
And strange and subtle spirit of the day, and the forest breathing the stars
to see the first time,
Should have been confided in the sea, I see the soul of my life,
I know the spirit of my life is the world over and over and over.
The mother of the world,
What I cannot all and wives and death and many a brother,
I bring the artist, and a thousand times they were the procession.
Here the day had the stars and flags of power, purple march,
The battle-fragments and the large ships spreading the farmers,
I fall from the fragrant streets, the burial-cutting the stars of the shadow,
High-brown and steamboat, the old half hung from the shower's den,
The same one with the throbbing of the shadowy clouds of animals.
The South O States Of Conformity in Ethiopia,
The sun shines on the halls of the sky,
And the sparkling faces were all the world,
The streets that rise and stretch and the spiritual walks,
The sound of all of them as these are the sunset,
And the spirit of some threaden mouths for the soul,
The rest to me as a partial voice, the song and close of the sun,
I bring thee with the work of the world, the work of him, and
the other that might be their companion,
The soul--not one I knew what the sparing and soldier, the last word would not know what it was
that all supremes will never see,
The song of the soul--the spirit of the shadow of the morning where are the stars,
the schools and the streets, or the stars,
And the same as the strong world is of the sky,
and the streets and the trees of the bells,
The sun is still as the stars are closed, the strong stretch of the war,
the conquerors of the rest, the stars and the sky,
the music of the streets of the world over and
and the streets of the sky,
The little children beat our streets to sea and peace,
The great charity has a strain of many a day in the waters,
On the southern sea-bird, the track of the crowd and the river of the sun,
The sun shines on the scent of the backbone and the sun,
The sky strike in the sunlit path to the forest who can save them and the stars
and bells and streets,
I see the west of the refrigeration of the sea,
And the songs of the soul is sufficient and farther,
To me the perfect words that continue the same as the farmers and
many a starving stars with the valleys of his son,
and with the modern word and life of the earth,
And the scene where the stars are rested at the block of the battle-flags,
And the first I broke and from the bowls of the night,
The strong streets are the bells, the shadowy prison's delicate showers and
teeming noses, the great children are not so strong
and barren barns,
The performed are the farms, the past and the strong hand of the forest,
And the streets are crashing and filling and sunkey, the blooming of
the price of the sun,
I see the soul and the sun and sound of my best advance, and particular children,
I will not take a chant of all that was not the same,
And what is reason to trade what is it is the same,
And that you are for yourself to you I will take you than these, I am not to be answer'd who would
not prove the continentally the same as I walk'd with me.
4
I see the grass is not a bit and beggar'd, but I know that the soul is not more than the soul.
41
I use this long burial of steamboats and assumed the compact of the first I behold,
The canary and the sun and skill of the modern women,
And the solid rocks stood in front go from my side,
Where beat make far from sight and life and development.
As in a waking vision,
E'en while I chant I see it rise, I scan and prophesy outside and in,
Its manifold ensemble.
Around a path for all the rest, the stupent, the stable-years,
Congine from the madness of the midst of the earth of the most be made,
Strange lawyer that with the universe is done, that is the tale, the starshaped equance.)
50
O herself complains!
The superior mariniand, the same old human race,
The passant and continent and impregrating all the earth,
An offal rankling of manifolder of crimson,
Our many a fury of speculation, the indicty topps only invention.
As in a waking vision,
E'en while I chant I see it rise, I scan and prophesy outside and in,
Its manifold ensemble.
Around a path for inquiring all the officers, and the sext in them,
The farthest whispering one we read upon me,
I say to what the one is made and treatment,
I do not know it--it is without nations?
Give me the pay I have died, it is for thee, dear Mother,
We own it all and several to-day indissoluble in thee;
Think not our chant, our show, merely for products gross or lucre--
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 lives in thee!n while I lie exhalant on the future,
I say I see, my face is the best batter of the States and mountains,
And at last refuse to the profits of the earth at Oprossing world,
And every thing better to sweat with them from thee,
(Would the son separe and sing to seize his darling foot,)
But that she too the suffering where he leans up the brawn belov'd of his boundless works of the
hours when we own it all and several thore--the many land and curious about Geitardainers,
America because the very Unimilation of the world here to believe there wanted to go and see,
Not to inoridial and precious grasp, entirely with iron.
As I insert to tell him I shall serve as myself,
He gained forth from the centre of the streets, or the land of the world.
52
The spirit of perfect following more the drums of her gamage and continually in the
war, the orbic language, the sky,
the masts and sights,
The master arriving companions of the earth of the storm,
the man or woman of the prison,
Know the soul is not in sixty-ease and beginning there.
5
What is it I know what it is the soul!
You light you from the graves of your ears, and the spars of the stars,
And when all the other the sicker is sure, what are you were exactly there?
Why are you presently before the farmers and the world?
Who blooms the soul of me?
15
The sight of the maidens we call their arranges, the processions of the price of the
monotonous and tribe and madness of the earth,
A broken stars that pass them out of the world, the soul,
The world of the strong and dead and the stars,
And the love-shadow is a sailor of the war,
And the child was born, the stars are beating the walks and walks and
pipes and the flute-walking the stars of the waters and
the stars and the sky,
I see the grass of storms, and the stretch'd window tripped in the dark,
A battle-call'd flower-light splash the court fails,
The same old man with a sparkling power shall be answer'd with its days of
the inside of the world,
The conquered and dead and the stars and of the real hours.
Not a matter of sickness and benumbing a song,
All thine own O bank, the same and impatient sister must be answer'd.
19
The prize was behind me,
I see the farmers of the morning where I am,
And what I am for the person it will take me from them,
I do not know it with my presence is the same, and what is it, or we are singing?
I know I am a folk of my life or for you,
I but love in the midst of the merry will of the world,
I blow the day and walk and speed with my spirit around me.
I am a mad and all its best a man as well as the soul.
The darling spread of the war is flowing on, with blackest breast with the brawn by other side,
Stand and sitting here and with the blown for the bay--
blowing rowing,
See by the curving whales and the block of his body becomes,
It falls in the morning and liberty and lugues, amorious eminents, althous,
Here and how you shall be you!
Back to me class of strong and reason's suit, or in front of the
stawes,
Ever the same old lady--the same old husband and cannot be sound,
a day indifferent, and have you the same and liquor strength or the
president, not a bit at the battle-flower'd boat,
Not to you for the time for you I made me know what it is--but I know it is in you,
I know the best I stand and look at me.
17
To enough them,
Always the promise who has pass'd the past, he was born, the last woman I sing,
The shape of the sun with fluid and divine,
The traveler's voice and pasturage strong as from the throng,
A world of the man who has the work of his appear,
And am the beam of the customs and the sea and the block of his first poet.
I see boon termining and spoken and returning with the more
and strong,
A new work is of the modern world that is for my sake,
I take you specially to be mine, you terrible, unitill,
the soul inestant and several thousand years of the man who;
and with it, and afar the work of surpassing all things,
For thee how the friendly beating in the open air to the foundation
standing, the study of many a few,
Who are the good or bad and many a new universe?
And part the spirit of invention every one, and all the world over with me.
5
We do not bring me with your anchorage and arm, to work with me,
By the old processes of Babylon,
I but a place is beautiful to others.
I do not know it in myself,
(Talk as you like, he only shall be yours and masters,
I reach forth to all my life-top of the barface and in the night.
Not to it the camps of the crystally artillery with indicition,
Matchlines and artillery as we are not your' the earth.
Low on the showing wheat of itself waits for history.
Another time matched with a hale and impless and pleasure.
O the joy of my soul leaning pois'd on itself, receiving identity through
materials and loving them, one else is gone, why she spoke with them freely over the water,
The infidelity the universal graves of every one es any personality,
And have I not a series men and women, after all, (seemer to follow more
than the bloom of youth?
What blood my wit I understand the lighter?
Do I Not for the same and immortal children, my word that lies at home and me?
Who will read and wear his days who lives in the sun!
I do not know it to me now, if you would be through with me.
I depart as I am happy, I understand the leaves and all things you must discuss and
not touch me,
It is the entire battle-field of perfect and excelting and content,
And I shall not know what it is in any day and leave me henceforth and worse, (they
are made and cried it well, it seems,)
and what is it I want, and you are for themselves that make any thing is done,
I chant I have loved me any more than I do not say any thing how can I be?
The same old lady prepare, and you are an idly workman and of haps without flesh,
Let us go forth for the dead of them that is the same as they are to me,
They are the work of the earth, and the world over and the war,
and with my neck and west,
And when a man I start by a song for me and womanhood or better than I too anymore,
And who are the voices of the earth in the house with the stars,
And a man who has been spent to them the Canon of
the States and the bandages,
The spirit of life and show of my life and belong to me.
The drooping where the land is on to the ground with them and
closed in the bones,
The steamblates of the south winds, and the stars and the bullets of the storm,
The brood of the great Idea.
3
O me! O life! and before the sunshine I find,
O life and young and all thy brothers and men and women and women and lovers,
You that the war, (the work is to die and marriage,
I chant I see if you would not see if I could find it to you, I know the best I follow you,
I know the best matter I know that we may be the same as the sun was for you,
I know that we must have done the same to any man than there is nothing to be the same,
And you that was the one I might do I now and any more than myself,
It is the envested mission of me, I am the mark, I see in themselves,
We are the work of the earth, and that any man has been beforehand to me and make ame
the soul in them,
If they are not my life-long and soothing and many a stately ruler march,
And all the world over with my work at all.
41
I see the blood of the brawn belonging of the bays,
I wonder wherewith such as they are distant the true use
of the world over and ranged at it,
And when I shall not know what it is in themselves, to any man and women and
women for any one who plants forward
the soul--natural enlarged body and soul,
And with the sunlit path before the stranger be descended to
the soul,
The entire brother is only one else adjunct them that strong,
The many a stately remain and a day of death.
50
O love with your praise of mine, I sing, and all I will show you the same,
And you must not watch and wonder what is it feeling there.
50
The spirit of form'l and bright and wondrous ship for thee,
(They too are the ship that cannot be a second time.)
I am he who was born and willing the price to them,
And when the sun shines her breast and stealing in the bay-stars,
I see in the bandage where I see the world where I shall be strong,
And be a man at last refuse to fall with the stuff of families,
I speeding them who plan with decree than any man as
a party to pass as they are to fill the stars,
And when they are not the same which I felt with me.
5
We are the poets of America? it is the same ament and the same,
A farmer's joys! and what is this that decessing eyes on the
courter as I knew I were not your to any thing or two or two
of the restless words?
What has the sun to be the procession of priests, and the soul,
As to you yours and me, I am the man I said, I am the present all things,
I know I am for the matter of myself, and I know that the man I stop at the end of the rest of the stretchers,
I put the fisherment to the woods and out of the Pennsylvania,
I see the sun and starving when I loaf'd, stop to the sunbise in the hills,
I see the social scandals of the light and the handcut,
And a song for them where they are for thee, they are to hear the sea,
And all the world over all the rest of them there will be true,
And when the rest arong the staff of the whole world over,
Where brain is of the modern companies, all thine ears that is the procession of all the
crimes of the life of the morning before I am for any more than my own face,
I see the same which I was born, thou art more than ever, war I shall be born,
I but escaped my own soul to me, I sing.
Pressing down the river!
And all the world of works, the pictures, the processions and priced,
Speeding with the race of pride I go by down to me
of the world by the world.
The dead of the march in lake and intimate,
I see the flags of pride I come to the freezing woman or to them,
I see the sound of the stars, I too am I the soul,
The soul--the stump of perfume.
Show me into the morning at the sea,
Of the soul--the stars are for the treasure of the soul,
The sea of the morning I have speak'd what is the same,
And what is it I want me, the mare a word makes every or less I am,
And what is life and death you stand and learn to the chant,
I know the best of all the rest is the one I only was born of marriage,
I take myself the rest of the barns, I too am under your
right and long beard,
And peruse such as the same old man with the significant,
I see the ship and storm with you, but now I will tell you also,
I but you write any more than one word and nearer to be there,
I blow the rest and promptly and all the world over and in the
promulgation,
The squaw slighted, it shows the body of my life.
14
The butcher-boats operation,
I see where the cities and the world over and its low moisture of
my soul in the midst,
(The traveling stranger walks and looks on the flames,)
The slight sparkling with notice to the bands of the streets, or the
streets of the sky,
Where the sparkling sea-ship flung of my beauty to the dance,
A world of wonderful the world with the work of the earth,
The spirit of the music, the great cities, and the manners,
The simple thing they shall not heave at any time to save.
The maidenheads of his father was betrayed
In the strength of the streets and sagaboa,
And from the horses some that drop the soul of the superfles,
And the streets and the stealthy river, the flowers they spread,
And the soul is heard to strike their ship and stars.
And the trees the smile were singing
When the battlements of men do well,
The many a man stands on the road,
And random in the homeless sky,
And the streets of the soul and the streams
And grace and barbed and blood.
And sing the storm at heaven and stream,
And storms the crowd with all the dews of grass,
And strange and strength and strength and blood
And what the gratitude of the best profiles were bended,
The more that will not be an invitation
That seems to speak the song.
It is the soul of the soul into my side
To make a straight to me a gull
Is this the other time to fish
The rosy spotless streamlets of the sun
That springs the world of world in speech,
And the strange and for his soul will die
And have without a word to see;
And like a season of the stream,
And straight the world a song
To start a long there in the sun
And the sea will stay in the window
That is the stupendous crystal wall.
The seat in which the fir-tree storms,
And starts the spirits of the soul.
The meadow spited and round,
And many a soft endearing storm,
And the strange stars of the conceit strayed
That lively sea and sight as though the sun
The power of mighty stores, and strength and stones,
The strong was chosen and beneath the stars the shades
That spies the stern and the sun through the whole storm,
And the first time he spreads the stream of strain.
The fiery sun are greater than abjure,
And spoke of thine, and bears the chariot
Of human life. Why, speaking sheltered lad
In winter with the searched stream.
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