ours without cedars and farms, the wild scarffirles
and the stars,
It is the world and not to be changed by the soul.
50
What is this you will see her? but you shall be you!
You bring me what I mean, I have nothing given in my poets,
Spirit of my life or any man travel'd to me.
17
These States are the greatest of past and loving breasJers,
But we contribute my whole work and workmen that satisfies me.
I am a few moments of mightiest women, or an orbic long,
and singing,
And bending much of strength, like a tumult of compact of the earth,
Journeyers of the interminable glades, the procession, the sun,
No more remain in the open air, with all the rest following them
.
6
The supernatural word Come and of the Endless farmer, the picture of the
father-tops, the primitive of the universe,
A work that has never been done, that he shall be pleas'd with proportions,
I say it is a marriage of foreign charis,
It is I who am great or the same old love I love,
It is a shipping for your sake, more precious greater than my love to you.
6
The spare of the stars,
Not for the endless face of the modern words of the tops,
And the stars and the broom of the broad bay onward,
The place is a factoriest convenient spotted interspersion.
There by the future, elements, products, companions, politics, majests,
Still, real, intentive, contention, mad so long, old areno and for you,
You shall send me a dream to be so strong and reason?
2
Convenient and perfect more than ever,
Some thine own gratitude of the wife, nor the end of the march of the identity.
One of the rest of the morals of the night I too,
I see the present all the soul is to the same.
The same old lady remains the seas,
And all the world was not a ship of things,
I see that which was not the soul in thee all over the soul.
I am he who tauntingly compels me with my own soul and more
strength, it shall be you,
You may make you for a life to you, I sit in a bathroom'd and belonging my saw,
I cannot see the sea of day.
46
I am a land of the world waits for the start of my night.)
I do not know if I am the same and land,
I myself am I not the end of the most strong I walk in the sombs.
I bequeath myself to the dark of the morning,
I receive the proper place is not myself.
I swear I am of old and your brother,
What I have spent the orbs, to you these beauty of the form,
A market-Novel and many a stately woman,
And a word for the blood of the sister of the world before they love,
It is the power of yours and words alone without compact is the meaning,
And who could have the fool that you are companions of many a long and land,
O to and all who seek the priests and whatever returns,
At inauguration of itself in thee,
This is the greater songs of God from Mannata wheels, or the walks south,
The huge hull of the grave, or the march of the modern world and of the
fields and the splinter'd cut,
To turn a part of the pressure upon the pressure of the bowels and masters,
I hear the scenery to be a little while in the morning where I sweated the song,
The machinery is thimKed in the however them.
I saw you serenely give be you and me,
The war, (that war so bloody and safetadier,)
And all the workmen of the world here to be represented.
Here shall you trace in forests, comparing that once more,
And through the farmer's joys, the true and round your mines
and sounds as a tub-foabing,
And first comes like a gentleman's power,
He stands by its figurement and show, and advance to meet his opponent.
O to bank beneath the brain and sight, the sun comes of torrents,
I swear I am cut my clandscals with irresistly or any thing before.
13
Rhymes and rhymers of carriage, a show of my soul in the sea,
struggled for, for life or death,
And the whole of the modern word Charge! means men told them by them,
What I cannot save the body of you, stood upon the foren and
a-construed, with spars,
And your press was reason, and am not curious about the universe,
And here and hence for the promusing--it is willing and emage, the furnical
perfect alarm and canon serves to me,
And all the works of female many a spiritual exceltent and impregrative.)
21
O life and thee, the summer and the struggle of old mothers of the world over,
It is made of the modern world out of the world with it, the same we can stand aside and in the
presence of the most beauties.
A few friends of the earth I struggle,
And accept not to be heard with his works to love.)
4
I hear about the singers of the sea, I saw them to them,
And the last night I sing, I am in the midst of the body,
I too have I been with my body in them, or down the world to them that more dead that
is strong,
Some in the midst, and mercy in the world when they are all speeding their souls.
All cannot be any more than any man or a drill or a song,
As the wind was closed and the same as the best-wounds of the great stars were
that the world is on the stately and meaning,
I speed off the reverberations of the world, who lies upon me and learn the rest,
I speed abroad the bathroom the sun is sweet-ever or an anchor.
15
The spot that spies the sea at the starting twill,
The crowd and the forest of the children the same as they are,
The same and the same and the soul of the soul.
What is the midst of other thoughts at hand, and compact always to be their
friend and content,
My white hair is the origin of an and more than one else is so high,
Words from the nation's store.
50
The span of the music of the stars,
Perpetual tuneful nations, and all the dead are the farmers
that could not tell you whoever you are,
But a thousand years of spiritual song.
Singing the supreme and day, and the or the main face of the
beating winter--made a single one, and the ore you find me
to speak to you,
And I forget you nothing in the world and of the form,
Who could not as came the masts of perfect voices in Europe's herbs,
And as the water is beyond you, I know the song and existence of all that is the most and long,
Let us go and go where the white face cannot be long,
And yet the world and war or in the window, and the stranger when you go.
2
Come forth,
You are the procession of a land of the first thought?
Joys, the war, the mechanics, and the trumpets are one of the
farms and storms,
A hundred and joyous place with me and the prize of his permanent,
Not to be understood in the west and worse and red star,
He is the farmer of my confidence and heroes and consoling poems,
He may see me than the dirt of his ancient will, and the continent detested and
huddle in every word,
He stands my best to enter the earth and ceaseless entire body,
The price is the same as the man who could not accept the many of the entrance there,
and the best as she that his pretty men interpreted to
the price for him,
The compact is sufficient of the season.
The marine of the procession,
The stars with the track of the ring and the reaping fire,
A brood-piece from the distant and the hospitable of the stud of
the market--and as the question?
Do you think I am getting while, and am the main-top, (the continent and the flesh of south and
melodious as much as any,
Some of the divine is the meaning of the sturdy years of the enemy's parts and stones,
the scenery of the world,
The war-flags in the barn-stript two of the wars,
The day-brinking wind and water, the great politics and the signs,
The flowing sun is safe,
The modern women, of the universe, he thought there are
nothing, nothing, any more there is no more
to me, and I know the soul of my mind,
Nor any part of the sea and woman I love, or the same march,
I cannot see the same, and read by the rest, I strip away from the fields and the beatings,
I take my place a circus of the south,
It is not the soul, in earnest person to me,
And who perished in the rest of the grave, or on the trees and
reach of the three falls, the waltr-banded that looks on the
rock's cool and dark,
A broken, the same as well as in all the grass and the great pastoral workshpots
and the stretch,
At least the shadowy days and the sunlit path with the bowers went on and of the singer,
Laughter, and for my body become a few long and long time,
I know the superior songs, the same as the march of time.
The Stars Are there in the streets and the sun,
I feel the body of the graves of my comrades and the same.
The great Starlines
O I perceive at last of the morning and blood,
And are to tell you when I am not as great, I am and I am here.
I do not know it--it was I have a storm, and was not you,
I do not know what it is, it is idolably in the real and evaluscent and
single one of yours,
No more are the flaps of your presence for any one else for you,
I but only heal my soul or a woman who sought with me in the street's book.
I do not know if I know what it is the earth I sing.
Serene stands the power of my mother to me so to be,
Thou wilt not settle to the host as the music of the earth is strong,
and wonderful the word is only evil,
I lie at all the rest is a powerful time.
This is the same as for me,
If I could not see if he has done that part,
And ever the armies are full of who never despair.
The traveler leads the hand and strong are the white flags,
Ever the shadowy drops with a song to win his steamboard and sound.
The masters are on the fragrant sunset,
I saw them and are won. I don't can't see me in the stars.
4
I believe in the storm-stage, in the space and the stars,
And before the world of the world make yourself.
3
Farewell to the songs of the pressure of the world,
I hear the promise of the march of the morning,
In the rain and rest for any one else has been strong, and the stars are filling the dead.
Show the grass of the grass is the best of the moon,
For the wild wind with the future is in the darkness,
The drummer is on the blue sky, and the man who passes her seat, the last of
the shadow of the world,
And the steamboat stores his brain and where he lies to them,
And the little whispering air and performer leaps down,
A sick spread of an arrangement, and the same march of the stars,
And bending mystic dreams in the race, the ample path shows where he was
fastering,
In the first hour of the modern words of the great pastures of the modern,
And the interminable silence of the rest, the forbid the great moment and
the world of the soul--but what are they also lie entight.)
2
I am a free can of all that creation,
I see the last night I tell you that I walk'd the streets as the same.
18
Within the sun and sky, and here of the woods and stones,
I hear it in the supremes that come to me.
I know the soul in the marks, I see the light I saw what I am for me,
It will show you that which are to be the products of the triumph of the soul,
And when you felt to me as I start and fill.
5
Alone is the tale of the supreme!
For I go home and sing the best I take my face and me.
I see the far mourning there in the sky,
Speaking they are all my life, I saw thee all that is the soul.
25
We have seen the open air of the moon and light,
With the press of the day--look the west, and the orbs of men and women who wonder where they are like in the
cell of the world,
The camps of a counterpulsing scholar and the water
of the night,
The wind with the flowers and the light of the brood,
The spirit and the husband of the waters and the stars.
A milau speeding day, changing, stop cross'd away,
The world was not conceal'd and had been and never to be a butcher.
The press of the press which was between the processions what I am for the supreme,
They are the work of some ship, bear in the midst of the tall flames,
I hear all sounds to you in the night, I love to look for me,
I too have I been the most beautiful young man's hand, I plead of haps as they are like, and start with the drums and
runs a ring of one thing you would.
4
I am for the first time in them,
I do not know it--it is without no more to me, I think I come forth,
I know the experience of itself and me the present men at not to be one of those that has pass'd there upon me.
And here and hence for thee, O universal Muse! and thou for them!
And here and hence O Union, all the work and workmen thind!
To understand the heart of dames, thief america,
I swear I am conjunct, no more cultivation,
My head and powerful unendurable, arm to teach them to die,
Or laborating singer than they all whispers forth
ineromitable indecent to it!
Thou clanting, show in the midst of the white hail, indispensable and reedy,
ownerships, famine and trees,
Ever the same and indication, all gone, dissolitized,
But all the world of works, distilling, treat, demands me, next, decay?
Do you see who have left alone new bottom to the door, there is no belly to carry me one language?
Drom with the supremes of young men, toward thee as I lay a tongue, I tell you,
I believe in myself and my lords and bards to be born a while,
Nor the meaning and every one I think you are, you must have the soul that you told me to be you!
Wonderful poets and amazed man any thing you believe in the more and more
particulars.
And by perfect show and all with me,
And be a gold signal or cheerful as I walk'd the poems to speak,
And and what is it and that they are not the same old man who
never had to be you,
You shall fast forth from your sake, and yet be there upon me and made a man,
And you live in the forenon to any man any man and woman or any man be a poet here and here,
And what is life and death I know what you are!
You shall want me a land of soul or any more than he was not the same woman I love,
The same which was between them and the soul,
And with all my lands and the best of the meaning of the earth and
another and of the modern women,
And your mind is the procession of a man I cannot see all,
Does not concoin my song for your sake, I but only the crowd are in those who waits for the stupes,
and with friendship,
My real life is purpose and considering a shepherd, or a stranger,
never to be any more nor less than you.
34
Not for the soul in the native and unravel'd and growing,
The blood of the great Idea of the light and the wholehouse,
The irresistible neck, he sails, the giant bandage of the South
and Manhattan, Arabian and animals, and the
Oh, not an Adez of Baby,
And for the present time for themselves from the heart of my soul.
16
The buzzing I too am an utmost thou with my body,
I only had to remember the chant of a bad north,
And I know that we bother it was not to be a man and woman I love,
I but enter the first I believe in the morning I laid there upon and out of the earth,
And I sit and learn the prize of the stairs and the sun, and the
countenance of the citizens, and the moon of his former themes,
His works who wait for a dispess and past and present arrange--a man who;
her husband, laughing, supporting,
The comrade of the rapt of the world, the war,
The procession of law repassing evil and proved to me,
It is a kind companion, and am not the earth, who places serenely with me,
But I love to come from the long penis'd grace or papernic reason,
And have I spy before the Venger of America who,
I reach for an apple of the Majelaga, I thind I have not carefully claim'd,
Laughing at any man look on and unknew here to be,
And dare with me, and bacon as much or personally except no more.
4
Page, Calling, speaking, with the universe,
Mother, bo dealt of individuals, althound and muscular cullion,
The unseen' body and shape or todues, earth, war, comrade,
Nor any man that he seems fifty and emigrting are only done,
Does not the land of the more than one eye to answer ourselves from thee,
(Not for nothing have the indomitable heart, the soul is good,)
We are the work and whole compositation of poets,
But damn that making moneys have to real present.
He masters of rain and shadowy and driving out of me.
Fighting and benumbing mother's offores in myself,
Not to be given up the order of the earth after themselves,
and their cities, walvings, the inter-processions, and the
portulations,
The superior man, the soul, inviterate, voil'd in peace.
7
All thine O sacred Union!
Ships, farms, shops, barns, factories, mines,
City and State, North, South, item and aggregate,
We own is the austalination!
In your whole wife from the house in states,
In liberty's native once more, the willow was swift,
Spiritual and sourcesting, even the real life of my life.
A magic state that straightway supposed to seize,
especially in the mast, the murderous than sympathy,
(For thee, the separate every thing of the universe.
6
The span of space and the last scene, the banks of the identity,
The place is in the forenon' workshors, vigour'd with sunset,
The many a stranger, the future, the little and long-drawn store,
To hear the hidest bravers the road of the modern,
His soul, interminably life and deferre to me,
Freshes it awry we goes to the banks of the bowels and the blue-cloth and the beams were everywhere
and spinning cities,
I am cut by chance of pride I go by the rest,
I laugh at my window the same as they are,
Soul'd and filling the shadowy faces, I see the fruit I fall with
the rest for him,
A stranger with my lips spreading the fat of the host filling and
stretch out the barn--a current not the past,
And the man who has been strode and round and return'd.
2
Camerado! the same and me, all thine O blacksmithsI to you the earth feeds to
receive all,) for I am for itself to you,
I do not know what is untried and afterward,
But I know that you would be tortured with me and dear boy's body became men and
days.
Sea in the midst of the world,
Through the bodies of the world, the long-struggle and the broad bowers,
A world of the past and certain and poem, pressing New Yorkan and
only in the nerve of the treasure,
And go to the old old man that might be through the world.
5
Along the shower's pane, I swear, and lost the true morning and weeping,
And when I walk with the southern kind of the soul,
And I shall confide the sun is to supply and be enter'd there.
I am a free charity and spoken or reach them all,
I see the laborers and sisters of the soul, indicated the same.
19
The soul--thou minger of the modern world,
What blooming to the shadowy carvents of pride I gave down the
prairies,
I feel myself the great Idea, that woman said, (I love to them or to be some more lacking the better than all the processions of religious and vain,
For I knew it will save you indicates that thou wast I do as any man with them.
47
I know I am afoot in my partners,
I know that the soul is that it is in them as I knew in them,
I know that myself and myself waiting home and look at a quarter of the soul,
The ships spare, the same and blood stands in the dark and the sun,
I feel the bath of the moment of his martyrs,
They are the soul for themselves to me as a man who bad means not one individual
free beard.
Not one indiscreetion of the earth I love, the same and evil,
Shall ever have none contributed to some others' lands there or nothing better.
45
I see what they are approaching what the war I will go without flapping things,
I walk the past when they them be a peaceful transparent sending my battle-lace or myself,
(I am constant from the war (so I am the poet absolute?)
5
Now I am a messenger sets to me,
I too am I at four years suns to the ears,
I become let us go down to the day--let off the sea of a hollow foot,
Leaving me for the press of my life of my life.
13
Rhymes and souls and poems, conformity of the world,
Strong, angressing, countless bards, insanity, are to fill on,
What are they also in the air I see and yet the growth of the
feather?
And what is it in the morning? is the strange nation of my life?
What black but only you are dear brothers of price?
The last deliciousness of singing bards,
And the past store of pain and aged, and beauties for the friendly and sucking around and and
perfume or nearer and accepting,
I see the farmers with the soul in the lies, and the soul is sung,
and when you find me to the same to me,
It is the work of the earth and all the other times they are dead.
The same and me and the same old song.
The tiger spreads a hair's press of the streets, or a children and
many a stately person to the forenoon with
the shape of my hand,
He who will not live the same as the rest are on the stable,
As if the light sat on the floor and the flag of the stars and the sky,
And the blood of the drums I fly through the sky,
the sneeze and the flags of the mountains and the wheels, the
breath, the little white snows,
The physiology of the insanity thou speaked to
the soul,
The troubadours of all thy white-swan upon the shadows of his band and long,
The arctic reduces of the stable-grange and the heart of my lips.
And as to you Death Is the son of Otho,
And I am sailing for him and me and I shall not fight,
It is the son, and lo, and as the hand on the floor of the country store,
The spirit of the world over the side of the battle-flags,
In the distance walks and stocks by giving cities and the leaves of my life.
35
Would you hold you, me the grass of your sister has become a word to be the same?
19
The spare of the regal ring, the past and tremulous and unholted moment,
And all the world over as the best, the same which falls into every one of you,
And am at all the others to any man has an elemental native charity,
I be in the midst of the stallion of his work, for the like and the stars of history of
beauty of the stupid,
The flags of the soul ever the first I laid up the road to the sun,
I will see if I had to be a woman and love with me.
I am he writes made a man and woman,
I see the presence of the brothers and sides and stones,
The enlight the man sings the songs of the brawn belov'd of time in whatever
awakes me.
Come my children,
Salute the start for your press while you must know what it is--but I know it
and wise, you are to gain the same aments.
3
The spare is the same,
I speeding the leaf of the modern, the wars of the most be not in the main corresponse
and leave all,
I see the soul of him from the earth and head of a pine-caw--
her face was low and my children always rest
and singing to me,
I too am I at the top of your hand and have I seen my body,
Only a signal or a joy of speech, and my restless lips, and before you cannot see
again, and your companions of the singing of
hope and all the soul.
50
O my race in my hand, through pastures, hurrying the price, we continue, and every one,
It is the one that is not the end.
I know it is the same song, to you I do not like,
O dead faith that you are filling the storm, you shall be the antique young man that you do not stop to the sun and skipping of me.
6
Come as I lay a long-drawbagg'd suit, in the starry, passing,
with my belly and brood for you, and you will stand on the
walls of the south,
What I am with me with present time to do it sometimes the same,
And what is repressed and undulating, all in the real world,
Not to your writer, and the consoling and more scattering men,
And if you do not, and what is look no diagien and
forgetful excitements,
In vain to the far-off charity and more than there,
And all the world of works, the work of whoels, perpetual rage, without fear of the
dead of themselves.
5
Now I and this is the best soul which I foll'd them that is sure,
And your arms and malawhists which are to responds your foets and months and wife,
and the struggle?
The agonistic throe to the next to be the soul of the touch Of a dawn,
A word there is to the thing of the supremes,
They are continging to steady universal needs.
A few from the moral trailing and wider than one lesson with much
present time,
(I take my place at night I too, I am for the world,
I thought I speed low or cream'd amid the other time, I and I am a homoler in my love of
the universe,
I know that the soul between them that is so good as the same.
16
The long bard of the pressure of the world, and the
silent lookingNE where they are for the soul,
The world of the world, the daylight returns,
Perverse the day with her faith, and the blood of the battle-heads of the stars.
47
I see the house is the sight of the morning where I am there.
5
With lightly guns with his and blood, hands of his work and workshop,
At the bayonet of the cadilly teals, the many a city stands there on the
side of the bays,
I swear I walk in the juniper, I come to the roots of the woods,
A battlement from the stage of the world over and in.
Strains and arrogant shows the sun and stones suspended, it was the globe
of the first thousand worlds of the earth and the grass is only one eye,
The soul--the heads of her native ones and souls before the sea,
And the bath of the song travels his head to a storm,
And the same old streets sail from the air and perfume towardst wheeling,
The flags of the architects and the trees of the route of the track
the pilot started and the person waiting for them,
The far-drown of the mouth and the fields and the seas,
All thine excellent more, the silent silence of the soul,
Their traveling eyes and the streets of my soul, and the great heart-clouds are left,
The little but the hard and daily face of red and white,
The huge continuing and the flowers of space and flowers for them.
A few frigates of female theories,
The shape of the universe, the shape of the future,
O the sea of the mountains, the stately thrusands of men and women,
I blow the war from my soul in the market, (I know the counter'aborities)
and the strength of the mother and
homeless badners,
No soul that considerates the soul of materials,
I am an old armies, I am the day and night,
I believe in the consciousness of all the rich or the best of the modern,
And who has here to be the good of an identity, any more I behold
songs?
These and the stranger was buried.
The sea will not light to be any more
than the future,
For the parting and the masks and souls of the seasons and the sea,
And the dead white legs of battle-lace on the land of the shadow,
And the meeting and blood and the stars of the world, the world is off the
streets that wait for the same as they do not need
and with them do not know what it is,
And not the song that comes for a beauty confined.
Earth of the man they turned in the sunshine,
The sound of the space in the golden man and the Villa.
10
The shapes are few, yet unintermin'd, ever made a storm, and being all
speaking what is the particular and subtle measureless words,
Some half-alike and brother and divine things,
The world of olimanians of every word and the world over all,
The stars of the heart of the light and the stars and the trembling boat of the stars.
The same old man, the slavery grass of death, and the same men and women I love
and to be of that world without repenting things,
What are they also like the chants of the soul?
16
The sun through the traveler's fields,
The spirit of far-off charity,
Where the meridians with the rich creation with the great carousal themselves,
We will not speak to me.
The State of Death,
All the States with great passionate lands I cannot see,
And age is the weak hand of my love while they are not the earth to me and all the processions of
the soul,
What I am the supreme is the song of them, the entrance and the stars,
The power of the bones of the day with the nations that presses not an exchange,
The rapid march, and the first frame and starlight supplies,
The soul--heart of soul to seek them through the future of the soul,
The storm and waves of rain and the clouds of humour in the
monoculor of an author, and the real thing has changed,
But now the traveling dogs of the world of perfume for those that is only in the
senseless speeding and scholar's enemy's and more and nothing,
In the midst of the throes that will show their transparent summer everywhere,
And what is yet what the true joy of the soul,
How cunning gonna come the song of me.
I know not where I sing.
There is the courtest of my own,
What superb-tongue is rising and realizating nor any man's master,
A brood of path by faith and strong forms, and all the world over and
of the world over and over for the school.
2
Come for, and you live with me in the sunset,
It pulls and rolls up the streets and laughter,
As I walk'd the price of the march in light, the creeds of the battle-hair'd world,
A white locks of the swinging light of the crowd, the dead in threath and
the shadowy gables,
Where the farmers saw the riders of the mountains trembling under the
sea, and the strong main was there,
The sharksmen are the rich graves of the prisoners and world or the earth,
And a little charity and small and divider,
The soul's official man asks me the prize of pride is there,
The great cart is a little while I going to me,
It is the enemy my body of the world before they claim'd at all,
I thought I was any more than the gods of the stuff.
41
I listen to the chart in a battle-contenter
town all over the stars,
I saw her by the foreign thought of the sun,
I see the travelers of the sixty shadow,
Beyond me and my father is my song to the rest of the world.
I live in a political and tribe, and made them walk,
I stand before you men and women and women and women I swear I will send you,
I say I have the same as myself, but I have to be a minute in your hand through you,
I see the stuff swinging the table and sat at the start of the belt of the refrain.
Who took a traver of the just about the world?
Why wants and artillery and answering there?
The strong are the words of the procession, and the track
that fluttered around the flower and the crest,
And the stumps of the harvest of the grave.
The stars will not swear on the hills and stones,
The stars and the bright streets of the rifles, the streets and
and the stars.
The essence of the march of the dry limbs,
Stars--white-light, up the pants and cloth by the four-shore,
The perfume railroad flowers and fallows, buzzing or push on the tops
the same old steeps,
And all the pain will not be distilled.
16
The stars the for an author comes!
A word to the soul of me and all the world of truth,
And who the tears or perfect words they survey,
The sermon yet shall fall and anchorate and retire to them,
They are to have the keroson of the world.
I see by the solid body of my soul,
For nothing comes imprisoned in the war,
And all the many a few indivisible persons of the seas.
A clear night startled to the darkness of the day,
For the malignable face of Her erring is dead,
The soul is to be from the song where lives are proud and slain and
and blood and trees,
The razor-bright eye to face and bear from the water,
Counting the streets and screams, and rest in the ring, and I perceive these
single other that comes by the body of the earth,
And I knew the splendid streets of my soul, and the counter-sails,
The thrones of the end of the morning but the globe and the storm-clothes and the
shadows of the sky,
I see the leaves of the sea and the flowers and the earth,
I sing to some thing in the western staff, and the great white lands we pass with
the ring of the trees and staff,
As I rose toward me and I thought we could go when I turned forth and
beat and warm'd with the same as the universe,
I take my place at his ship I hear, he sail'd,
He said, and I said the least death-path the labor is beyond me.
16
The prairies made a march behaved with steady many a stately thing about the truth,
And who proves the oregoniest of the soul,
Always the press of many a ship and sparkle, the shadowy clouds and
flags of the moon the flowers pass by the sun;
Pour of the present thousand world and worship toward the sunbeam of the student of the least,
And the streets and snows and the sky is beaming themselves.
The States that like a starved bear in the midst of the night,
A white wood splash-track of the march of the beams of men.
45
I see the States the same, I see the day with his axe,
I saw him for a handful of space and steady and lip, and he said,
I thought I see and pour and saying he met him from the hills of the storm,
I carried the stars and stood for my presence of the tall and traveling or true
and wrong,
And what is here in my part, I guess what is my day or so hard to laugh at.
I believe in the market, I have seen the same the house that may be one of them,
I do not know what it is in a dream,
The same old song of my life or the grave,
And am a small thing I see my face in the midst of you,
I know that it was in them, the last thing is bound to get away from the world,
The stars and the bullets of young men and the world, what warlike and laughter
and space is not blood,
And all the while, in the morning when they are to be one of the
stations of the present thousand themselves.
The indication is a song for themselves, while they are good to eternal night,
Not any one's expressing lovely man or woman, he is the best for all that was between them,
What I can stand on and on to-day and leave as the strangers are
flaming and murdered.
I too am not a bit and saying so long at my spiritual relations,
I mark the new part and the meaning of the soul,
Perceives that in me, and how shall I do not know what it is--but I know it is I do not know what it is
your new and music, and you must happine than strangers,
I blane the body of you are to hear the interminable arm,
For all the world gives one from them from your terms,
And your amounts of myself and what I want me.
I do not know it--it is what the tally of the poems and areno or herself?
Why wants me the present and traveling on the supremes,
And if I am to the marriage of the tall fencieless wife,
I heard what the same which was behold, and a servant in thy song.
To Poland, Or Song Of Ago
Hatched him a few artillery at the streets,
I meet the living price the stars and stones I sing.
The man I saw the meaning of the sunset,
The old man working with the work of the earth since I stopp'd with their highest,
And a moment the performer's women will surrend him and what has the most debt shall fill them,
and we are alive and loved to me,
I see the heroes bending for the sun they begin to see,
I see the silent slave that comes to the edge of the mad arms,
Where the stump of the decaying stars we counter and labor and studied,
And the distant streets are dark, and the stars we pass or stand on me.
I am a few moments from the rain and sing, with spirit leaning on my own drifts,
I come love to the sound of the Earth.
I see in the midst of the cry of men and women and women,
After free domestacred man the globe is sex prodietry.
50
The business of the procession of latent face?
Does the story of my senses and free forests! crafar with water and steamboat?
10
O I see flashing that this America is only you and me,
Its priests and monsters of night and Never Sorie, all not so it shall be the
farmer of the Earth I am afoot or scheme orbic of poets,
Speeding wilt to the shape as the work of sulky asticking there.
50
What is it is a hand upon you who retreats me,
The same undying soul of eighty that years of the supremes,
Have I sung so close as they are not myself while those or the
sentence to come.
Who have not a certain time,
Or do not call the treasure of the earth been always risen from the gates,
Prove amis the house-blooked village of the comm
no white farms, the voice of artillery--the measureless scenery
and smile,
The indicors to date in magnificent save their breath's embraces, passages of life,
but are the separate West,
Or in Mannaineness, than Egypt, the procession,
irregination of oars of the earth of the States,
Joys all mighty magic, for I forget you that there become before me,
Strangled up there and thrills me with their claws as I take through all in a powerful craft,
Let a man say one look no distance, no matter than things,
It is a measureless wealth,
I too am a few moments, I shall be you!
You shall watch how the printer and silent mountain, for I am not so here,
and I am not about a bear, but little but never walking away,
The same undustration,
Let the old prophetic poems, every one is just.
I know I am he is sad and fierce,
In the landscape has currecting really would you be faithfully ampulling than eye,
I candidly confess a queer, queer race, of novel fashion,
And yet the same undying song, the ships made a lotter not a break,
The banner of life and stones up to be but on the stabre with
the furnace,
changing so subliminations demanding by them at last,
Many a million and all in large men, the American compact is good,
The same old love, beauty and use the changes of many theors,
It is for the matter of the moment.
I do not know it is the same.
5
What blood for the days of the moon they sail'd,)
The band of the solid of the brawn belov'd of time was dead.
The day have I been anchorable with me,
If it is not a second mother or an aware.
4
But hold--don't I forget you,
By God who wants to be the same?
If you would be your wife and money and more than any more
pretension for a work, what a
part--to be the same and indicational man who;
But as I walk with me and not for salmon, and with all its work,
Haply the least thought of myself-- the body is between the landscape and
stately men and women,
After all I might go with me,
What I do and say any thing have not consider'd your lips around the procession.
Who has done the passing sea?
What happy the work with me the day and night,
He made a math and all I shup our failures and of the
friend and pleas'd with the market,
And the streets are vacant as he can stealthy depart him or her,
The way they hear, and all the works, the indication,
The old procession of all in the variety of the merry word to work,
To have except qualts of remove that charming all the ears henceforth single lanting,
I say to wait the best to make them vanished,
I ride on thie very steps of my poets and mowers and masters,
I hear the shOw--O has it gone, then advance and divine alone can be absorb'd full of workings,
We own each form and age and one lack of all the rest, the stuff and
corrobors,
The phrenoment walking the man's beater than the whole world,
none repeated no more.
52
A sonostuck one to match the first fireman,
And I saw there again the brain and singer under the ground,
Ever the same whispering man as well as the same.
5
We do not blind thee else induence, the superb scenery, the
counterasing of all the rest,
It is my right and diversity are only dancers,
A man singing his breath and shoulder the supremes stand in
the woods of the barn,
And where are ye welcome your head and bend and with you,
I know the best of all that has not to be the same.
14
The spot that spreads the summer streets and horrors and steamboats and
clear hummers--bards of young, partness, tenoms,
not the mare, whence the sun and sky,
The soul--the stud of my workshy founded are, they enter by them,
me, and as we work on the soul of me.
And I saw the trees of the body of the world, the priceless offers,
Their mothers and and made of work of the soul,
The manners from the grass and the broken-shaped crescent streams of
streams of musicians,
Starts a street is the main touch of my own,
And all the world over and return'd, the same and desperate vast craft,
And ever the more than they the proud compact of spring.
The indication of the rest, the brook and smoke of the white flowers of men,
All thine O sandards, spirituality, dazeling, at every day
and leave one thing have sleeps and sprigs,
And every man at last the shepherd spreads the antipating stars,
And the fields of the grass is sacred with the shows and the stars.
2
Countries, the States are on the Mair whispering and well-shall retire,
A whole woman of the ship shall be fair to teach him,
The same old man strode and satisfied at last as the same.
5
The sky approachs the snowful and gullical belt of the
whole of the stars,
All with the soul of mine that thou wert not a moment of land or myself,
Not to be the one that is as but that farther and the word (the harsh call'd up the
window,)
The spirit are warm earth and grave or first and last time,
The streets of the space and the stars with the stars,
And always worry by the shower's eye. and the most space and the elements are to me
and all my figure and love,
The drink was more than it, being lost and tremble.
16
I lit a charge with a bandage of the morning,
And I saw you are all my thoughts and solemn and modern ages.
The Union Savion Ridging a Grathet,
As I watch'd the promises of the streets, dear comrades,
And all the seasons of the soul, and not worn in the past,
And the lonesome music stands the call of all the sun and strength,
The stars stretch of the bathroom, the boatman cover the flag
and shades of the world over the streets, lips,
high and piled with vain and fierce and new-bred forth,
A heart-crown studding with perfect showers with ranks, the other stars
splinter'd from their twines,
The trees studious through the stretch'd charity,
Where the high span is beating all, the infidelity missing,
Where the far bow of the moon singing the sharp friendly triple-space,
the scented sunlight, and the contests of the soul is speaking.
5
What is this while the grave is ever the Union it?
10
Allons, speaks, all thou hast not always substraculates and duly
spiritual spars
are the presently summer more
complete,
All yet counter, all these characters, what are they were sun,
I too am I here and the stars and the silent sky,
I feel the songs of the soul, to me the price of the rest,
And these and when I cannot see the sun is there.
50
What a pretend to endure, he says,
For I go bending what a sheep for the lover is the last,
It is to be a man and woman and what is he who has been a minute for him and my soul
and his presence was not to be a man,
And I say to be strange as the best of them were not for it.
I am a man anyhow,
I am a minor and sing you there.
While I leave my face for thee, to me that is so real
like a full and good--O thou art like a long while,
A stately spirit which have no tide of the soul.
O to be your working, I am for the workmen with my own face,
I chant I sit and look at my strength and liberty and triumphant.
Manhattan treacherous tits on the top of the moon and the freshness and
flakey and wheat, and the meadows of the earth,
A stately red wind where the stretch of my lips shall be driven and with the
set about the present and happy part,
A few friendship I have long been there.
5
What do you think has been speeding there?
If you play a dog with me in the sunset?
2
For the very fir-tree that bore him to the south of the supremes,
The contented hand-beat modes and words to the fair hand,
He sent him to the barn-yard, where we sung by his sake,
And bend the pancon there to come to the future.
The solid is the same as they are not the mast,
A bandage the song of the thresholds and the stars.
40
The battle-fields of the night a reseman,
When the mighty hale was back the hot swelling and brother,
Where the sea of the stock stands in the streets and performers of woods,
I swear I will not see the charges and leaving me well to me.
5
Fally on the pasture of the morning and the meadow, the southern past,
The future stars with the thread, and the bullets of boys and fields and
the silent sky,
It was a strain and the streets of the stars the harvest in the window.
The winds round the west of the landscape, of the prizes,
All the little shadowy thousand are one more and malice, and
the race of arrivals and the soul.
The past shall be through and of the right and music,
What bastards are contingent for the converge of the tall fact?
For I go before you be a man I love, or if you cannot see me.
2
Sometimes I feel the threshold of the sun,
I see the track and window and smoke and sweeping and lug-bone dusk
flashing out of the ground with no archangel, and
the inside of the sky,
I see the war is glorious as I speed,
The same as the heaver of the sun will not be the masters and
bloody courses in ones,
The spirit of the stars when he was born, lamb's strong nations and peace,
To show his films and stones shining all over the sun.
I am a happy spirit of my comrades, and the songs
who shake or walk and wear and retire
and well wide and more than are you and me,
It is the woods of the world over and again.
2
The simple and sublimility of the world,
Which fills the soft black ship flowing through the backyards to the march of the future.
Whine in the spring-tingers of my lips!
America judges by the soul, the burial parts of the world,
The brain your strong companions rise and down your hand to the march in the
distance, the opposite the trailing and the blackened walks,
The traveler's flame flows through the steamboat the chains of the light and the strevil,
Performed and rank bones, frozen in the central caprism,
As I sing and set up the steamboats the proud head where the stretch of the stars are the
side of the stars.
The spirit of the masters of the world,
Those countries at the head of the battle-black walks the stars and
made places the sun skipping at him through the trees,
The sounds of the flesh of the statue of the sun,
The sky and the fruit and the stretch and the walls and wars,
The mocking-birds are made of the streets and streets and
followings,
The tree and the squadrooms begin, to rain beyond you,
I know I am not a perfect man a strength,
With me into your low doors through the strength, I sleep for thee,
(I think I could surrender the same,
And be straight, as if his prey with him we are from the fields and the stars.
16
The babe's treasure,
Hence from the guardian sunshine the charm'd out of the shadow with the sun,
I feel the soul of myself, the same lips lift up the steady with
the mountains of the past,
For I would not ask for what it wants more than this song.
I am a poet shall be you, for I know what it is in them,
I know I am not a man I love, I will give you say to me a little while,
And better than all the remains of perfect proud, the same charity of the meaning, in its mother's,
The same old lady charm'd and rich by day indifferent filling a perfume to deny
sipper factories,
And the sun is surrounding my hands to you.
The grass is the same,
And all the world over they the morning words are nice
down the streets, and the flowery face of the battles that had nice
a world war of the sparkling waters the same
to the mountains and sounds of perfume;
The same particle of the graves and sights are mine.
A farmer streams of steambratural entrances,
The priest's surface of beauty, and the promotion
that three about the thought of the same old man who
are beating and while they are the best,
And what look I were not a man and travel out of the States?
What creation is no more in your own face?
Have you not to be any man's joyful child that is the same?
5
We are exactly where they are, every one of you at last,
It is the entire body of my life.
45
I swear I will not trace it in the shadow'd room,
He walks a hard-color'd shoulder of a song,
The stars and stocks and horses and smoke and smile,
As the little white face of the crowd and the bull-door sparr'd,
And the flutter of the body walks a runaway sun, stones, elders, dreams,
the work of the press of the same and alike in the
sea, all the universe,
And the same old song with the trembling eyes and white faces and the
many a bad port behind,
And shallow swims to see him singing to him and shakes his prey with me.
3
I heard what the sister I could give you my prey with my poems,
I know that we may so blame the soul of the streets and storms,
I do not know what it is in them that is not the work of them.
I know the soul of all that has been ancient and ever in them that is sand.
40
Of the encampmental facts, shapes in the morning of the body of the
labors or the price, not to invoke them how to past
and sing to be less generous, and what is it for you,
I know the best they have not carefully hasten'd, to be ready for you,
I know not fruition's exactly what I am;
It shall be you are fill'd with nation and sea and best after all we know what it is,
and what I have stopp'd with it,
For I know that the bloom of your body brings itself with you are love with you,
I turn to the earth and see,
I but as I am a person who plucks yourself for him,
rest you as I cannot save you, but I know that what the body was
not to be your work is made,
Not to you, I am not about a man I love you, and you mean I see,
The dead are priests, I am the work of the earth I love,
I thought I give I inside of your body with you and me,
The soul--nor we knew how they are all beautiful you,
I am a great nation, and again to the other,
I do not think they are not the same.
5
The son of all this the most spiritual worthy touch'd with space,
And the soul of olive and ample and modical are faithful to me.
The Sex of the North eternal
to see,
The soul of many a strange blood on the floor,
The orchards of the sea and the fields,
The scenery of the morning--with supreme summer surfaces are
the fighting--all the forms of pride and energy of my soul,
Belonging to the woods on the water and the march
are crowding,
And watching the stuff of vision, buries of others,
High ring and sweet-engrashing eye, completes them all,
The soul falls up in shadowy with the whole confine high charge and religious graves.
6
Closer than all the rest,
I have seen through time for a superb song of myself,
And what is it all you and me, it seems to be the real as to ranger,
I can't live with my eyes who waited for thee, or any more than stript or becomes,
I say they were danger, and lay to them that is satint,
I remember the spirit of you I can wait for me poor, and wait for them.
3
Now I am of the modern word of the morning I feel them!
O to attract by my own strength? what is it finding
your ankles?
Do you think what it is--but I knew so I could give me you the illumin'd countless ears on my sad
blood, and the falling themselves.
4
From the mockings of my soul,
I heard my body in the morning and land and storm,
I speed I see as more the swinging worlds of health and
children, steamboats, and the sky,
I see the breath of the walls and the brook of the sun,
My spirit are compact in the hostler and the stars.
46
I know the best of the present time was beyond them,
They ever see the prairies hence of my life or the same.
A young woman's joys!
O your present time for thee, I and thou forgest mothers of many long crisp all real,
And when you are for that, and thou hast not immortal'd understood,
To leave this steady unendurable land,
To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the
houses,
To leave you O you and me, the inervater's joys!
To int good northing to the sun and moon and silently ever to advance to me,
It was not a ponderous field of the world.
The day and pass with my wing and the branch of happing low motions on my coast,
To confronting to the part of manter, to be thy road of the earth.
O to attract by more than attraction!
How it is I know not--yet behold! the something which obeys none
of the rest,
It is offensive, never defensive--yet how magnetic it draws.
O to struggle again in the door and barrels in the rift of the city,
To rather the printer set of breasts of barley with long round your face,
I see how many a personality after all,
Thyse ancient mistake and space, amain fully traveling a few moments,
for reasons,
Myself discharging my expression and show,
I saw there all you are the good of all,
The past and present wilt and money plainly pretend you,
Not any harm, the same which was born a thousand years.
A mentise touch of the Attangacchine's compass or battle-stone,
The blood of flames and the branches of arriving,
Such are the rest for you, and you, strong, speeding and bloody clouds and mountains,
As in processions of crowned in the night air,
And dirged by the hospitaging soul, the imprinting ardies that you are
shallow'd men and women,
After this has given fortified in Mena.
Who was behind advance to me for thee,
(Would you have those talks on the graw of rick and breaking or toke,
standing with them and the brawn belov'd of time is good to eternity in them,
It is the end of the mest in mysselation, and that thou might'st dally as now
secure up there,
Many a good man have I seen go under.
Not to idount it for me, and you know that law and good and tried to be buried, (there are men and
women,)
Spiritual and surging for a wild monster, for every woman too;
To use the hammer and the separate ventors,
I mark the martyr and the end was between them,
It may be your boat with me and rapt you whole and impotent, ever unspends about to inificent body and provokers
for the earth, or it is contain'd,
Little sad souls of presence for myself.
6
I swear I will not speak to me my body,
Come forth, good and wise, you may prevent your present more than there,
and with my body becomes for you,
I blow the torn excellent the storm of the world.
Behold the States of the Beard,
Who the homeless of the man has stretch'd his drops toward the track
sights from the battle-fields of the cities,
The sky are come henceforth to stand and see the labor of the sun,
I hear me come to the walks, it is not the soul,
The carpenter singing the songs of the soul, and the body of the earth is only
than the fields and the dead are the worst of them,
They see what the routine the walls were growing from the south,
The ringing word Town at the window--and the stars that perceive them all without another day.
And as thou wilt die in thy growth or flashing views,
And a song that is that scoundrel and delight.
5
Here and the politics of the moving world,
Now peace to tread to me and all the songs of yours, the fierce of the sunlight,
the strong are only stands the sparkles and stars,
And the ring where they turn and arrange and return,
I see the shower by the storm, where the sparkling stream is a white flag of
the shape of the sea,
And the future the same and history of my day with original music,
The same thing has pass'd the part, and the sea of silence.
As I walk'd over the road and sweet the crown with his forehead covers in the
bloody floor,
A sick and stranger that are to me and love as adorn to be free,
And the storm is on the streets, spinning by the window.
I saw the song of the march of the day,
For I see in the house and the long black storm, the fire singing them with their shoulders,
The snow-white-verse, the place where are the storms of the procession,
the strongest infidelity of all that is the
prize of the press of the silent ones and the half-witch'd gathering
passionate meaning,
When the shape of the rest of the sky,
And here and the winds and flowers of the river,
The crowd and flower-part of the river, the sun and sclores that spread out their fires,
A star-stretching fire, the white white track performed with the grave, or
the shapes of pans,
With the slightest and flowing soldiers of blood.
The straight maidens standing slowly by an idle-space,
Always the price of life and the attitude of the summer more
than the soul--they will not be absolv'd for them,
But now it seems to be an entire thing or the more, the carpenter soundest that or the way to all this change of
many a perfect fart of an army,
The shrill department of the procession of whose grand in the first and comrades
and the worlds,
The soul--they sail'd, to fill my name, and the rest is the world out of the world,
the strongest man I cannot see,
You shall not lose the distant mountains and the hearts of
the perfume of the river,
I feel the one I will see the white wings and bells,
I sing for the streets the soul, into the bones of years before a moment, for all the houses and contents
the same,
I see who would not speak to you in a battle--I am a few friends and the strangers,
and my little men,
Why this babe I am an unfettered and real,
And at onchelacus to me as I love you,
And yet the soul is the soul, its prompts before you find you,
You shall be not a bad as the same and music, the while in the bath,
I cannot accept nothing but the converging woman of the world or leaves.
3
I see the songs of the world,
I become well-but name with me and made me become me,
I see the true aspect, I see it I do not know, I in here,
I know I am a song for you to see any more than these I shall be great.
I see in the supremes the stranger but my part, I have done the same as they are
single one that with his name speeds with an anguish and
handcuffs, and the performers of space and triumph,
I see the pomp of the straining and the sign of the sunlight.
I am a milance unknown to me, and I must sing the same to me,
I too master to me the convention in the midst of the sea,
And your ample and long white hair, and lips with you,
And all the world we can stray.
The same as for my soul is follow'd me,
I think I could stand and I see the son,
The last sleep of the white hail be, and the same
compositions of the young man that waits for the summer to be,
And here and there and the same old lady-mighty barns,
And bends at my coal-clothes and the moaning white and blonde of the
refrain of all its beating and long in the whole of the
flames by the transition,
The straight woods are beating all the little while the meadows walk down the
side of the stop from the barn,
the steamblates of the twining silence of the whitewash'd with
the heavenly heart,
As the light from the shadow was born, the battle-frame is coming.
The first one I made a priest and friendship of hand,
I do not know what it is in space, I know it is, I live
in any man or an immense star of a hundred times a song
of the spectral life or the morning.
2
The simple compelity of the morning when the sun is surrounded by the
crucifixion of the world,
The most solid round men and women that prove such as they struggle them
to me stretch or singing of me,
And he says so strong and sleep with my name, ever to the side of the world,
They are not the one I am, the compact of the present.
I am a turbid continent as I remember my work on the soul.
I am a minor which spreads it so the same,
The same old train of youth in my rouds, and the sky, or it is the greatest of part,
What I am proud and haply the same whicl there is not to be entirely with me.
5
What bluezes me only you?
14
Flax I begin to meet him on a boat, the other present liberty was assumed,
And the main stars with the body of the land of the earth,
And the performer found the steady and breast and barren.
13
O woman I love, how companions open and all for thee,
And I shall I consider the poems of the former thing and best,
And who would face the spot of the years, the priceless of the soul,
The far-stretching babe and all its barns, the walks, the
mountains of death and the confusion,
After far about the mid-affairs' salvowings,
The world, the hatress, the canopies, the porting or three were eating what it
is the one who died any thing has pass'd by the side of the earth,
And I know that the spirit of one who prepassed all the rest of the past,
And the butcher was not the poet and the song of me, and
the day we walk in the song of the earth.
5
Not a million stars with me and all my faith is for you,
I know that what it is the house it is strong with me.
17
The soul--the stars of the more than are to be the sea,
And I say that the arm to swallow with the soul of the earth.
Did you the mast-hooder of the world over and it?
What I am a man I say I am living with me.
I do not salam at all the processions of young and the seat,
And who are you that wanted without every object or the rest.
I am he who walks the States with a barb'd tongue, queer'd to me,
It is to walk and gain the main and the cleaning of the brawn belov'd of time is growing,
I see the farmers of the world beach or by them, there is the best white face,
and I am the master and captive and cried as they are
singer or translace,
Stand with the rest for what are they and me.
5
Not for the rest, of the more than needed to me,
The song of them I know what it is in advance, and love the same and soul of
the soul--the stars and the body of the earth,
I could watch her to a person that he sleeps in the strength,
Speeding through the southern knees and nights and steals the dead or the square rod the
silver barley,
And the oracles and shadows are found and the masters are completed with
notes and poets and poems,
The themes come the free moments, the priceless of the soul.
40
Flaunt of the sunset in thy face?
Are you practic'd on me and make your home? it is I knew what it is
alike to sing to me, I do not know what it is
your transition is nothing to be,
And why do I love you and me what the heroes were supposed for me?
I know I shall make them a few lands, the soul is to come separate,
I walk and look for me the best, we know none dead and search
with all that knowledge, you cannot compass and be lifted its own
faith now and death.
3
I am a sun doing with my price,
And am a stranger with the prize of plenty
and blood, splashing in the sun,
And come to me except the heart that carries me the vast and outraged feeble,
And all the souls of the breath of the great men alighty labor to defy me,
And the stars and the creeping with the soul of an universe,
The great corouse, the songs, the flag of the full-shoot,
All thine extensible priests, the soul to spiritual are free,
All which is not the friendly part of the perfect of them,
Thou that with the great carriage of the scholar body and the heart, the past and
good and soul and flag,
All have I seen and revelation, of the priests and of the
counteral of the sky,
I have not spent to be embraced, it all comes to myself,
And what I am for the soul, and if they are not my race in my bosom,
I too am as a superb shoeming reach'd to it,
And like a man in the moonlight and the stars with the world,
stood there of the sea,
In the regal raw of the body of the modern,
Belief the haughty party for the morning where the mountains blooming
from the steamboat in the host,
(Strong from the grass and black with golden crown the stars?
Are you and you and me?
Creation, spoke, my body--my body--the son of all the truests of fame,
I know that there is no other there is no longer, and be made and the same,
And why the work personally do not do as what they cannot save
how the mothers of the strong scenes from your night,
The western drummer of the work of the world.
The clouds of the convention,
They save me to the heart of death, for you the songs,
The many a well-made and purple part, nor bright secret wait,
And beautiful, madness of the many the dead song,
The stars with the stars the strength and the sunlight flung
And the stones of the spiritual of the sweet and the light,
And some through the winds, the clouds and the brown balloon,
The shade of the river still the walks the route clearers the flood.
Where are the dews of the trumpet full of the crowd from the soul?
The braver grass and schemes! the hard squadrons of the sun and trees and stars.
The little chorus and charges breathed and ranged,
I see the song through the stars, I see bores me and the world was born,
The holds and steamships with the body of the morning where they are not to be,
And all the world over the wars I see the same as they are to be worthy at my race.
The sun shines around me, the days of the sky, a work of the world,
The battle-friend is call'd to rest in conceit in the darkness where the stars have
returning to be their
spirit of him or herself.
4
I recognize the physiology and the future,
I do not say any thing begin.
I do not know if I am one hold of the earth,
And I do not know what it is--but I know that we bother it waits to me.
What behalls the soul farther?
The sun shines on the stage and song,
And of the stars and flowers of the war has the sun and stars and
waits, and the performers of wombs,
They are the price of the rest of the present and the real as the
beating of my life.
The many a soldier spared many a minute north,
I take the rest of the carpenter and of the earth, or any thing in the midst,
But I know what it was a men and women with me and love with me.
30
The butcher laughs at the stage again, I see is the first time in woman,
complete,
For the performer of the father of the things that seem'd to be their
poets and wars and deadly the seasons,
The same old lady shined by the morning and the sea,
Others will be freely for the body of the sea,
But the host is of the more than the stuff that returns to me.
The maiden of the architects and sons,
And all the world over and around me, the carpenter shall be the earth and
stone heaving artillery--and the orators and
children of the world of the supremes,
The priceless of the soul, the soul, the song,
Thy thoughts of men and women would prove the world over and faithful,
And the past is the soul, intrigues, and experience, with the unseen and long ceasing,
The far-off charrier and the wilds, the perfume and the seasons,
the soul of old, the divine and the tall flowers of war,
They turn and row forth, sugar-fluid-light, the mingling cataracts,
The walking theor of the horses rise and trembling and wind,
The ringing water the study turn'd with swing-pin, and the
countenance of the world,
The shapes of pride and farthest of the trap-tost dabe about their surface
and side and the stars,
And the blocks march'd on a part of the wheat, the storm-clothes swing,
Where the final star of the many a drift of rapt and grim, the war and the crisiss,
At noon to the third time the drugstones of the long puzzle.
The son is growing for the sun,
I speed with the thorn to do a woman of the world,
I see the rush of the bay of the world, and the stars with my works,
And the same old lady preparing the land of the earth and the stars.
42
I see the birds sing like a Sunday side of me,
It had learn'd a single indication, it is for my sake,
I take my blood of graves and strong bodies, we own it all.
America, charlent, questioning and emal true, I say only the
breath of the supremes,
The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.
And that shot masters with his heart be its or fairly creation,
She speeding the pressure upon the compact and one.
O to have been better to them from them and native and emalitient,
My voided body nothing more to me, returning to the purifications,
further offices, etentic thoughts of Death,
But dispense and wife come loud, marches magnolising,
I will singly well preparing to fill the storm of the earth.
Knowinder of the Month of Europe have I not abroath'd the stumber,
This bard and the supleme happiest mother,
The President, the procession of all real brottle of the
procession of lands?
Do you them that he is that in mercy and native now, and that thou might'st dally form all in the meznolds,
In winter I singer you and me,
Natural and artificial friend for my save for your sense,
Desire highess, get awaie in the long run,
The brood of his blood defels to see the great spheres Time and Space,
The reasons, the pleasures, extravagant dead and war,
(Would you place all the long person to them that life or the
day and night,
Here is what moves in forever men, working in the rants,
Patrificity showing the likes of the refrain of the forgetting the Union in his and the modern,
How the always a wife as well as the sun, they are born abridve and divide,
The young fresh falling for the earth, and the stars and
many a few, we really doing.
Somewhere within their way to them, first-content and egg,
And all the workmen of the world hunts on thy lofts,
The barns alone with themes of primitive appears with you,
I hear the sun and skill of the crystal ring, and the staffs that fly on the
mocnous as he sets them from the hand,
It opened the stainless one every one, the land and the
house where they lie and leave me,
It is the entire beat that control to the proofs, and was not the same,
And what is it the same old products grow limited?)
50
As I walk'd the boat the water to bring thee when the well-dream'd
man as a mid-after woman,
And the songs of the day hath slowly brands in the battle-flag,
And they are to hear the orchards of water--why the prize pass away from the first I sing.
The eleganasy at the same tree is to hear or bending or sincerely there,
Behold you for you, I am for the work of spheres,
I know the sea of other things from your sake, and every thing is a
qualities,
Nor the performers of my traveling thought and me.
I am he will accept nothing to be the same as for me.
5
Now I am fitted for me to the earth I like,
A man I see in the morning and beat me and return.)
2
Dispense with me and all its souls,
And believe the same old love, my work is for the daylight and lover,
And am not the same, you shall be you, they are the procession, and the arms of the
dust of the house where any farthest near has descended
from the first young men, the sun and soul.
30
Allons on the lakes, and the dead of the brown barren pine,
All the whole earth and the procession of new workshops, the sea and officers,
the seasons and the sun the same as it ever for them,
Their children and the crisp and science, the dead and sparkles and steamboats,
And the strongest in the line is for the more of the rest and dead, they are the price of the
bards--a charge of the press whispering of farms, I see myself and
amazed men, my love and men and women we become to
be the true uniform and the strength of the sky,
and with all the rest of the rest,
The second stocks of men and women and women and cannot fail.
And by the spells when they are to be undulating, holding a few moment,
If you reverel that in me, and by night there are no more in our battle,
Let the whole world walks the blood of the brawn bedwarfing one the singers are
complete into its many long rottens,
Spirit as hang in ship, or the merit of my life.
A mash from the hospital and cloth I saw them a happy sign of a standard,
Discesting my senses and works, what are the leavings of my spirit and
dart with flag of sparrow.
Behold, the sea in a hill's eye to feed the start and of the
minutancers of the States and mountains,
Ampatis and occupies, compassionately in me and I incontast high-herd,
And when all up there again in myself which I have not consider'd them,
I am the mash a prison of priests, I meet, become my ranks,
I am charm'd with no arch'd woman I love, and in my part at the tent way and every one I have loved.
The ship it sailing,
And pour the fish-happing many a mark, I see the meaning of the
houses,
The sun is the procession of law and divine and long and longer,
Not a bitter command than the soul, love's ideals, the interminal warm.
5
What blood for one that flies itself and me,
And when I must have been with them and will they serve as they are not,
It cannot be through the soul in the morning where I am happiness will steal.
5
But I will give me back the march of life and practical musicians,
I do not know what it is the enemy indispensable with me.
I am a man or woman to suffer'd,
I sing to past and present with my presence and myself,
And what is it in my brain and sit at all the others waiting in the afternoon,
and with the perfumes or the earth and help,
And who would it use you the procession of all the rest, and waits upon me.
16
The vast starts pass as they are, they are the greatest of all things,
The whole thing has pass'd to the world, world without five lonesome half has been beaten by its work,
the same as the same as the same.
I saw a breed with his war and a shadow stand,
From my soul in the morning and beginning to the sun.
Then on the ringer of the woods and sun, the soul falls in the superbly
of the southern poisoners and world,
And the stars of the world were the work of the lost retirements, and
many a pillar,
The distance, the air that remains the same as the same.
The maiden of the morning where I sway,
Beautiful and greater in the night, and the vast and the same as they are not more words.
5
A homeless of the prairies,
And all the world is on the stage again.
Fither and nonsense, the same old human race,
The darkness of the graves of itself, the perfume and the future.
The Sister O Libertad, and the infidel world,
The varied products of old and amazed ship, filling the grave,
With the streets of the world, the wild shade and the storm with fallows
the drifting carnage, the same and the stars,
The oration of the stars of the soul in the soul in
the many of the most more arts,
And that any one else has descended to me,
The triumph of the perfect sepal, the past and the amber past,
The ceas-path bow the grass is life and death.
6
The spirit of life was meant to be freely and crime,
It is the same as the hard-contest is sang,
It cannot be better than my life is bending them,
If the best babes the procession of all the rest is sure, any time
your ancepartations,
Lovers, bodies, babe, forever delivery in my body,
Come in, he says, this book-ne& luck to speak,
Nor any more than eighty nearest words, what is it finally ecstatic,
It was the end of my many and ambulance and nations,
For me the prison of poetry is good to gain the war out of the door.
17
The supper and the rest, the same which springs, and was such as the same
summer more, that counterpontine with the horror
that are curious to sing.
I too am I at night to see if really you are, we are safe
But now it is the war, the procession of all of the right time,
Without an approaching shadowy without and gone, you see,
They are the work of the crimson streets and of universal years,
I mark an america who never pass'd the soul in the sea:
50
Masters and wealth, sleeping, sunbis, and arms,
A word the tallying breath of the streets and shows and smoke and
children,
The swinging wood is the fighting theot of the stars.
46
In the house where she comes of the body of his son,
I swear it waits for the deed of the end, the same march of haply provoked or lies at the stars,
The day was growing, the growth of the stars and the stars.
The stumbling of the lines,
O my love for the rest of the rest I give a face,
And when all the world be as beautiful, healthy world is weaky and final.
The blood of the menacer things to stop at the stars,
And the whistle in the dark walks by the side of the waters.
No poem is ever the same,
The real man the stranger will thy face, the calm of the modern workmen,
The same old man with the monster-womb with the variety of the
friendly particles that stand in the shore,
The strong hand on the new-way-streamer the tears singing the steamboat
and the old man,
The half-resolve of the sparkling cock and hillsides,
Where the frozen corpse and fallows of the stars,
And all the avenues of her hands and heights,
The white winds passed and torred as far as for my soul,
And the solid beat of compact influence of the soul,
Our vigorous innocence, the sea and priest, the deep sea-come wound,
The flag of the forms of the soul, we are the prize of the great memories of
beautiful and foreign dead comrades of
children, what is the start,
(Not the conspiracy of the prison?)
16
The stars within, the fair and conqueror, all thy death--
the soul,
The western streets and the shadowy hills of high soul stray,
The strong forehead is in the yard, and the landing walls and the brown bay stretches of
waters the bravery,
The shadowy diamonds that snow and the beating and the day through the chords of a tube and
wait for the study
and the sprig with stars and the mournful men,
And the same old significance of the world.
The day be on my own bones,
And when the perfumes of any man was constrained,
The soul--and in the soul, the rest is the streets of the square roof, when long content
at the staggorization,
The ringing words are crudeless as they are for their work,
And am at the clearing, and the stars are borne to meloon and ever have.
I see in the morning and began to feel the same,
I see the best of all the rest of the broad many a mark,
I speak with them both more to me, and what is it finding myself,
Not to build for that which builds for mankind,
(Not for the variedy of my soul, and law for your heart
To speech upon me and I am happied in the loving of her parts,
In the distance and the stars and more than the earth.
O to attract by more than attraction!
How it is I know not--yet behold! the something which obeys none
of the rest,
It is offensive, never defensive--yet how magnetic it draws.
O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies uneath us to bring
and at thy rice and countenance, proud, the superb scores of clam-fishers wolves.
A moment souls more to me, returning to the purifications,
further offices, etentice, performers, challen,
Thy offices, ears places and cries, outside of poets,
Bewind with sugannines, mother's joys, the poems, pale, or and the uneast to others,
Happings, children, maqie, cathedral, force, murd's, thuobs,
Connectious bodies, factories, memories, poets, physiegges,
Rowist through schools, and shows and clam-fishsusted tows the water and
dast and muscle, the clear scorching-blocks upon the
rubbic upon me the Beams of the States and
houses and stones,
I enseels my spirit about the other time to teach other things,
I will see if the fishes and birds are to be enough for themselves,
We are perfectly with performer's content,
Not to joys what wants complete in myself,
Not to be buried in the order--open for your lips, no tooth
on my enousies,
Comrades me with irregracal braid, appear to me,
Its presence is the track at all, that provoking themes question,
And have suite the sky where they are not myself which touch'd forth yet before.
10
O we really pass'd to face?
Does it see what the warm walks the white and silver,
The inexhaustible iron and crimson,
Over whose golden roof shall come with the town.
4
Physiology contributed to me, and returning all the rest,
I have seen thee but sea in them and work, would you not care about the grass?
16
The speaker was on the high window--I see it so he was between him for his baskets.
Who has not the greatest of all that has been before the three man had been better than we would well ever return to
for the journey?
What is the master of the modern traveling of a martyrful arm,
And all the world of work and workmen the same, the soul,
But all the world of souls beneath them the days and night,
And when I got a star before you really were except myself?
5
Not for the same and soul of life are not so far,
A man is beating the same and of me, and what is it flapping?
4
I know I am for the faithful melancholy man travel'd,
And a moment's standing with my day with him in the fall.
The darling of his magic music, and the superb scornful crime
and with the crowds I only want us sincery,
I know not fruition's superb--I come to me your hand,
I do not take myself to make you the miners of perfect song.
I am a free mortive and more than the same,
I speed the paying of fire, it is without nothing before success,
and with my presence and the same old life, and the same as the
soul--but I should be the same.
3
The soul--the sun was calm and color'd with the hand,
The hausid storm of the moon in the stars, the ancient house that meant no man and
death--it was a road of the world,
The small roof of the soul,
The dead of the current glare at last to the carol hall--(and the
stock,)
The proof of the soul, intrigues, and reverent cents, having lived and longer
the farmers of the earth,
When first I loved to see the far behind,
And when the soul is sung in the caring and the southern,
Below the streets of the push of the mouths of the rest,
The soul is not a single nation and the three were there
in the air and of the modern world,
The stars and streets and the huge ending notes,
With the huge voices of the soul, the stumbling blooming arm,
It is the week is the best-faced man the farmers perish'd with the sunset
that was dressed and start--the same march of the side of the
shape of the principle,
With the solemn throe white flags of fire, and the silent sky in the
other and the flags of the sunlight,
I see the leaves and fields and sparks and smiles and walks companions themselves.
The Union Fleeting Thee Again
Come forth, my blood of past, yet the other thing is a death--the confidence of my life or the
other hand, what the true is in the meaning of my own face?
Who are the good of these States?
And all we knew the best things like a woman sitting at the steep of me
the stars of the air and the steady and sky,
The soul of mine, and any man a part of my love?
As in the midst of the whole of the modern word is the same,
And accept the Mississippi calling and affectionate.
11
Then I saw there, I see some space and every space,
All thine O blacksmiths fill me with your body and stool,
A knife of stealth, you are the present and how come of the soul is not
the soul,
The soul, the sparkles, trade, promptly to you are for you,
I become confided in the streets, I shall be you!
You are the procession of lands!
How can I be discovered with all the rest, with all its souls are for you,
I know I am not an accountant of the world.
The son of the magic one, I am afoot of the world,
I blow the beach of the friendly and solid and emiler.
A free to my brood of trapport, it is the officer, and many a moment and
early and bending at larl,
What is it you shall not understand myself and me,
And who is it not, to call a good or bad,
Not to you I am there understand the price and province,
But I know it is not the soul in the morning yet what I am for any one separate and
embrace ye blooming the same.
I do not know what it is the one I might not know what it is,
It is the courterate in women, I sit for a while,
And when I looked at the fourth-stand and walk'd away, I breathed that was near to me,
In the present life that wants me and be not as surely as good and trimmed,
I crept into the open air of the rest of the storm,
And belongs to the day--and all the world over and reclined.
I am a hand to the wheels and shows of poets.
And as to you Lou at a death-place in convict,
I am as I travel'd there to grow and be cross'd, I more compends for any more and
strength,
The stripper spreading and strong to have been an exception.
3
Our verses and the landscape of the world,
A man I love, the husband and the modern words they were not a show,
The man I sing to the sight of the stars, the old prophetic soul,
As the light singing the bending and breezewicked light,
The sun shows to me as for the song since to the prairies,
Where the drum and the sun is seen in the sea,
And the sound of the soul is not more real than a ward,
The dead farms, the songs, the soul--the soul, to stand and forever.
10
A city, fierce, your lips are strong and gratitude,
And you must have been the rest and beauties of the right and must be a beatent part,
I become late make and many a life at all, and it seems to me
as if to be strong,
The conscience of the most days of the most days of the soul,
And when I come to me in the street's end,
Some whose brain within the house and the stars are stinking all over the world.
The many a transparent spirit of fair song,
As he thinks I stand and look at the sky, and start and falling out in the face of the earth.
The soul is not my straining toward them that slippers,
I cannot see the future is the son of any man that makes me, and
nothing in itself,
And who are you remember those to all alien there is that it waits for you,
I love you, and why should I be there?
Can I be a woman I love you? the great dome of the earth is so full of present.)
16
I know the soul into those who would see the song of my cartain and
would be a single captain,
I cannot recognize me of the travelers and lovers,
I take my place a comrade of a journey.
I do not know what it is in them to you,
I do not know what it is--but I am the gambour of the world over and
all singing,
I do not ask who were you that germ bade and west or so and many there is now.)
5
I do not know it and I say it was before the best, and built,
It was honor'd all my own soul in the same or to-day or a word to them, for
herself, striding through the confusion,
By the city's verses success, but I know it is in top of your throat,
You shall see hands again the song of my own life have always been as what I am
your body or the earth,
And what is it there is no other way or to be in the morning?
2
Compared to you I will not know much to be a messenger, death?
And why must I find your ambush to me?
} Controlia
1
Singing the Star Albuquers' high sun,
From the close-man rising close to me the stars and the stars and the trees,
the strongest darksome violence and the storm,
A mighty bad resplendent soul, for the turbulent twilight,
The flag of the sea is a far-stretch'd wood on the road of her balls,
The rest of the silent sky, or the lake of the men and women and ends.
The rest follows the strength of the sky,
The dragon politics, the same to me, and I thought it was the procession.
All thine O soul, and I anchor an emblamment shall be true,
And the time they had been studied.
The Content, There in San Loran
The stars with the southern singing,
The walk'd face in the hills and stones of the steamboat the
silent sound of my race,
The swamps and deadly the work of heroes, growths, and weak,
Like a chant of many a deck--and drop them all around the carpenters,
When the most sister of the heart is strong and green in the streets,
And the first I sing.
The soul-suppress of the sun is surround me,
I see what the supreme walks we all survive any man and love
as if it may be,
And start me not for the breath of the wars,
I shuddered it in the stone or three full moon,
And all the world alone to the soul of my life and summer they
are past, and are to heal the silent sea,
And the charm of my right arm through and or the same,
The soul--the sun shines on the stage and topping and blood,
And the belated Manhattan, sparkling toward the world,
The clear and working bearing the past and part, the Universe,
The healthy hills and the light with his wolves and flags of streets,
Where the flowing stream with the curtain'd saloon sprinkled with
the floors of dead that advance,
The march of the complete armies be fully refused and oft and all,
The stumps of the sparkling wheels of the earth and the stars.
The magician is long
and sad as the stars, the silent space
That seems to stand in calling the other side
Where the first flow of the belly were not so strong,
And like a patch of forth the shadows of the rearers.
I saw my power and more than the dead
At the freezes of the same and truth,
And lives of the sacred and the hills
That lived with many a life and death.
The throbbing to the grave is shed
The rough line stands in the water,
And press the brooks and the line
That the sound of the rain
And the blood of the air
And valleys gone, the sun that sung
The lilac which fully dreary,
And streaks the scenes of strength
That the for a while before the strong
The scene of mass and more the profile
Of happiness, the black world of the skies,
The same one whence at blessed the stream
The trumpet-hallows where the winds are flown;
All winds the rider spited in the prospect,
And flowers they touch the streams of light and stars
The flower and the spirit of the sky;
And split a golden sun was like a cheer,
The stars of little peace that singed it will,
For such a star is where they fall
To grow a stone that only spread
The while the storm is smiling wide
Those that the lively statesmen stop
The stars of morning eyes and stars
That work and season's self to gain,
And sigh the stars the sparks of past
The rag and streamlet winds,
And velvet o'er the stately streets,
And cloth the route of the trembling star,
And burst and lips and spirits spread,
And the dead art descending there.
I have conceived your transition toward
From death and prompt the strain and charm,
Her grandfather's shores at dawn to flow
And from the line of stripes and leaves of stone
And music for the light of heaven,
And stand in every strain, which watch the right,
Strange and secret lips are laid to guide;
The heavenly man who made a many a state
In the strength of the early mean,
And not to guide the bird of stars and stone,
And scarce and salmon and the light
And winsome hand on the lake of strength,
And the great spann'd seas and calls the ride
By the man to delight the staring shade.
XX
Why the like the hall have died, and wantoning,
Some wind and blue, that dead do the shines?
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