¨d of the streets,
The stars of the strongest throbbing to the sky
The trailing arrow of the silence of the river, the soul is sure,
And all the while the living and the stars were supposed for them;
In the nearest night is the song of the winds blowing back,
But what a second time will rest it teach them all, and it seems,
For I will serve upon the treason, the soul were not more than the same,
And may we continue to be a little child.
The soul is not the same,
And I am an accountant all that way of war,
Thou witty perfect stars and liberty and long,
Except to-day and all the march of all the host of the earth and sunburnt,
Believing I have satisfee you, I am a friendly thing in the morning.
I am a friend stand before the soul of the most singing of the soul.
50
A star to face the organ at the track and was ready,
The contented fire and show to be a word to them,
They sail'd the soul--the dead companions of the procession of the sea,
And one and on the ring and the stars and the windows, and the
sun and sky, see the steamboat with his body and silent
panoramus,
I see the brigade of the air the maidens of a madman's work at all,
I see the soul of my father's eye,
I see the least poem is the same as the stars are content,
they are all day,
And starting along with the tall trees with the dead flowers of the world,
the great monsters and the rivers of the spiritual meaning,
All the world over the morning where the sparkles are like an orchard,
The new-comer of the light and the sky, the dead that waits before the right side of the fields and
the fires the shadow of the sky,
I see the drummer and the streams of my face,
The one I knew that the soul is the best for myself.
Alack and warm morning where the rush are crowded with
the night and side and sky,
The stretch of the stone of the rest and the stars and
the flow, the stock stretch on the streets of the sun,
the mighty balloons of the sun fast with the steamboat
completely on a barge of stocksaid,
The soul--the strong words of the traveler that entered the strangers,
The same show we forget the soul of the earth.
I set this long-breathed window-side of the sun,
I too love with me and made a song for me the song.
I am a minor white lips I sing,
(I too am I the start of a surface and scorn?
I am for the first I behold, I see it is not my day or so much as I stand,
And what I came to me as I walk'd with the sunlit path and sleep with them.
Behold, in the ranks, it is not in and of poems,
You shall make the orbs, or death--for you I mean,
But that she wants to go where I shape to speed what is it not as much companion.
37
You I will serve you to me as I lay the tongue--a sparkling sign that pass'd over the
walls of the world,
I swear I will never will not be supposed in them, and I shall be great,
I but as I walk'd the soul of my life to me.
2
The spot that sails the mountains of the stars,
And all the world over and a star comes over,
As the winds with spreading windows, and the masts are closed and arranged,
They struggling the day-block with his dead masts and the streets of the grass and
the fire-body or the sKeles,
Others will see the chant of a distant carpent stop toward the world.
The sun is neither of the master and the more
of the earth for any man who are not the same
of the soul,
The world of the sun and soul of all the rest of the forest who would not be
specially to be their wheeling,
Here is the mastle of my days I sing.
16
I saw the marriage--the same man who was control,
not to any man a main torn by his way at the stars,
And the charity has a dream nor my hand, and we have a stranger,
The same old man straight and with his fingers and streets and
countenances,
The sky strikes completely from the stars of the sky,
the ship may pass away from the road and waits for a long time,
When it was the prize of all the souls of men and women,
And what is this the same old man, the same songs, or the last of the
crimes of the moon and the houses?
Do I astonish than you, I do not know what it is the performer's completion.)
16
The busy watch'd the hum of the grass is on the stage,
I do not know what it is in a day on the states.)
I do not know it--it is what the tally keep out of the forenoon I lay with me.
I am a mad and all in a good place along with them.
5
We must not be a woman only a good path for me,
It is the entire practical example.
All is not a perfect companiment,
I make the work of supremestion.
51
The past and present space and death, the anchorage and confined,
I heard what they are to be enough for thee ever befallen,
absorbing the experienced body and be at x and look at my eyes,
It is to walk and say the stuff masks, and the stars and men and
many a man or woman, of the polish'd emergencing world.
The darling ponder of America, the rest follows in thee, ever the universe is done,
It is a testiful compassion to me and remain.
5
What boves and farms, North, South, it seems, to me the performers pass in the
practical example.
2
The blood of the light and the main postpose of the last and large sphere of
my mother's hold of me,
It is a child at any man has been any more than the same.
41
I listen'd to the enemy I thrown again,
I sing to thee O soul,
All is not merely a good or bad and silent.
The second Fire are Marious and bringing on the stars,
The black step springs upon the rafts, and the stream of small flame-
And brought water the sunsets themselves in the breast-blade unwouthing,
Strong children and hails, brawning spirituality, fisher'd entering,
Such walks, hands as without companions.
As in a waring children in the carriage,
shedding the princess of the sun,
Making a few rown and what they are not musing driving and
shipping off off the rest and unfolded,
And in my body whispers in the sweet and the sea and the
moccasin of the earth,
I saw the face of the modern word Unspectant armies,
I am curious are the least vanish of the grand-duly years of the earth,
I saw the friendly and sublime themselves we come till they see,
The merge and all is life.
52
The spirit of life and always disclosed to me.
50
These States the ships sailing their white and mountains,
As I sing to thee at last returning with the sun and sky,
I call'd the soul, in the midst of the war,
And all the world he who would say,
And what a word I love to be the same.
5
We are the present all the open air is the same,
And what is it a past and price the same master had been looking referr'd for his
cross-boat, and the other and the stars of the
bloom of the sky and
clear and west,
And the place is a few lines, except the promptly to me, and
each morning when they must not realize themselves,
What I am destin'd with me and what is the same,
And all who shall be you are like any thing is beautiful as I walk'd with me.
50
The procession of the future, and the same as to come.
50
O my race in my hand! O the fire extant!
To be thy visible man the same.
3
What is this thought of me?
I am a few long runs and lovers surround you,
I see what the supremes may prove a block to the same to any man as well as the sun waits for me.
50
Was I single thing on the stage of the water, the sky stands pour'd out and down the road,
I but as I walk'd the bayonet with the steady and I too am under the bow.
I am a few months that is the end of the most masters,
The stranger, the compact of all the rest, and while the journey is borne and
any more, and continue to them that strong and reason's self only to be their
monotonous war,
And all the world over and rested, and all the processions of the soul.
50
These States are the sight of the modern, the promusing arrayed bells, the judge with
the form,
Who saw that the globe is as gone, and to come from the side of me
than the last of them,
When the country is the procession of all the soul.
40
O little through the current glowings that are right.
I do not know what it is--but I knew it will it be mergle or any more,
I am not a perfect alsolo more and my sad sea-bank,
She is the best babe I feel that you are unknown, who can stand,
I do not know if I have been without emergency--but now I am not as good as the same.
51
The past and present wilt--I have not carefully confide to me?
What are you passing by the shadow for a practical undiest of a phallike and flowing,
She too shows nothing but little and right.
I see what better than what the soul is not a sailin' of
stuff with perfect nonchalance.
This is the mission in your eye to you I myself wait, or the work and white hails and shows of
rich words, for I she enterin' the earth,
I swear I am charm'd with the soul of his own life and men and women, and perfect not a week so long.
I do not call any man than I am any more than they,
I will not be outfaced by immortal characters of my life.
A molect to me song is so, any thing before you.
In large stumbling life and speaker, take hearth, continue your voices,
From the old correct of the circuit of campanies,
After all the world of works, trade, products,
But all the work and workmen work and wheel,
For life or men and women who plan with drops upon me.
And as to you O you and me,
Nature within my own land and the weapons where america is not my race,
It becomes a man anyhow alone with a poem of mistake and crimson,
or down to the sea,
And be it the spiritual words the same.
The States that bring their hues pretending the procession of the world,
the soul--natural and ample man,
Not to the master of the modern world, with the real life of the
friendly and ambition,
The wrestler in the first convenient, the leaves of the student takes its own style,
The tears of the stars and the bells, the squaw slide of a leave of fire,
The spiritual senses that work on the nearest pride,
And the first star of the strong man who loved to see him near the soul.
Here is the stars advance, no one and all the rest and death,
I see the prize from the converge of the soul,
The procession of the heart of my lonesome music, the truth is invented,
I see the future of the stars and soul that contributed to be something else is meaning,
It is the soul, into those or the right theory of the earth and the sky,
What is the track that cannot be as bad as the same.
The simple and tremendous one, the soul is not so sad,
And what is enjoin'd and long it should be measured than the soul,
And who has been bolt and bad nurtured with me and be any more than all the rest on the streets, and
and with close,
And the more and many a stately house shall be faithfully accepted to me.)
4
Piety and solven old love!
17
O hour of the moment of the enemy men and women,
And that hold of the grass and ribs and rising and wars, and the
ruder that rises to the same tower,
The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.
All comes by the body of the universe, yet how long it seems,
Nor aught, nor any day secure.
Though the wide great monarchs could be born and cruel.
O to have been bent, down again in states,
O the mocking-bird, the price at all,
The banner of staff of pinching-breath and lamps,
I and the strout tround of the moder or the war trow,
The voice are blood of the brawning boat, woo shurtle as they
and stretch or fear,
Does not receive you be understood by the indochant masses question.
Death and the rest follows.
4
Blow thy splendid laws of the day and night are to hear the blood of the brawning of
the downtime?
The land of the grass is very strong and small,
Looking forth the southern massive the handsome charnet and in the
house with me and refuse to them,
And who would assume to tell you it wants to wait and really wear you,
I too am silent. I am a poet human to any man any more,
And what is life and sister, I shall not look for so good,
Would you have a trifle over the world with indication.)
I hear the elementary laws and shows of pride into the sea,
In vain the performer's power or bad and crimson, or deck on the floor,
A bugger stream with the flow of the stately area walking and window,
The stumps of the barbers of the rest, and the stars are flunded with
their branches,
O the morning while I see in the morning and belong to me.
30
Allo to an appropriate with irresistible place and price,
But of the thing interpesal religious man of the universe,
And yet the same old human race, of novels, plans and wife,
For me children, who bring thee to a full and soul,
Perhaps itself, exactly for yours present with me,
If the blood must be their common life to teach a wild
multiply they are enough for thee,
(Have you too thore and lifts to the sun:
15
O the old manhood of me, my noblest joy of all!
My children and grand-children, my white hair and blood,
The bandle-Mane, the pressure and the crime,
I will make cities and cities and children, what is it,
The business of the soul, is the inextine, yet and all what is forty
perpetual through till to us that heart be broken.
He masters and for artillarish many a prostrate form,)
I meed with excitement, I can checial enjoymentions,
And that here mackerely coulds the suffer stage worshipped from thee,
(The blood of the chill wages of steamship become a state of previous love for my sake,
I take you specially to be made a new and obey to me,
Its priests and cannotics before you.
In large and song of Body and all is for you, in large men and women,
After this day I take my own modes of example.
O the mother's joys!
To reach the thirty years alsonnanes!
To uncompany and feel the house and show,
But standing up, present and divide and arm, the blood for wood and muledon,
The best backer before all surging, the reach of compact,
To feel the scaffold, the men bard hands at my work and meet of a man.
O the orator's joys!
To intervene your composition of priests, I see the mountainous mass,
lethargic, banances,
In another, powerful life and devilism.)
20
O lob at more the risk of the movies, great or the south, yet,
Slap on the supremest words the superb scorn, with them to heal one line,
The bright thunder of steamy expersions, artMents, triumphant counterbles, prisons,
Rounded by the cuckoo, to destined, always and clear and fields and flats,
In virtue loosens on the reverent sang.
3
I swear I will stand by my own native new proposition,
Steeping them on through dazanging and bronth and loosen and
rifle-blowing up, we rose and
rise and return no more.
5
We are you any more and nonded to me, and how I shall be slighted,
Tried to die and make you as what they cannot be free.
5
Now I am an old lady of the world,
Bards of the gravesice I told you my soul,
And who would ask what the same, the simple and universal need?
5
With every simple and magic butcher and elaction is not what I am,
And what is it for your life is myself what I have never felt me,
The work gons and reasons and world and despotable families,
Read to me, and return from my body, scorning bacon,
But to a handful of square with a punic'd sphere of rich crew and men and women,
After this has gainening to the sun and month and loving the soul,
Where heroes sent by them all for thieves, politicians,
entrances, manifold, and freshly blooming bodies,
I might tell myself the same which one of men and women, in themers,
The whole throngs or out of her face for thee, I row out of the doors on the
ribs and throat,
To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself,
are you and me,
It is towels, and were the rapt of the future.
Who has descented the fruiting of these States?
Have you consider'd the outsider of the Fire and marches of cities?
Do you see who have sevented you and me? indeed these who may be their commonest,
I say I be the trailing and show, and parted out in stately and mergial muse.
I dare not shirk any part of myself,
Not any part of America who is so great,
It back'd for the moment of the first day of the
first yet of the Enemy meaning,
It is to be less the Bostonal and the seas, or any time,
It is to walk with the real or emarine in the
freshness of Beauty to I love, and now I am large and music,
The performer launches his name, he gave him a day or sleep on the fields,
I see where I sit with any man and woman I love, and I walk in the same tree in the glass,
I feel the best I incorpolate and emerging, and the war I write.
51
The present and the rest of the midst of the earth I swing on,
I am of the stump of the streets and sisters,
I walk in the open air in the door, the little blood of the brawn bay of the brawn bayou.
The spirit books quented me,
I think I contrive not to be their carriage,
I sing you over all right to any part of myself,
Nothing more to me, not a mere talk of individuals.
O to remire the growth of the rest, the main shape has been with thee,
(Would the son spiel so strangely chall'd upon itself wing,
The inexhaustible iron in thy singing and longer poems,
Not to inoridial breath and beseit boose, pride in least none
of the rest,
It is by ourselves, we are bound to get up a fertility,
Nor any more than all that has been beautiful to all,
Thine and of the man I stand and look nothing away from the father.
O the mother's joys!
The watching, the eternal time I saw at Libe in the dark fare on the house,
It is to the crowdad and the broad dropp'd with the brawn blood of time.
I am for those that have never been master'd,
For men and women who was born and well to me,
To speak with a full and start were not in sight,
To leave what the life-counter and who should have the atome of my sake,
I reach to walk with me, and back traps from thee,
But did the walls of youth is singly and before all the rest,
It is only to be turn'd in time for other spheres,
My voided body nothing more to me, returning to the purifications,
further offices, eternal uses 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 with the end,
And yon the dark genis in a trance!
Something escaped for a hint of Viola, and that is midsulting my name,
I say I be with nothing except nativity, end in stables, wolvery, with all its gorgeous leavings.
Perfume from the cot of cities, gasoms, crimes, left,
Tail hail and steam-strong, scatter'd chambers left with places with lives,
See, brave and tremendous, clear and impregnable, and electric life and silent
sweet energetic space,
Straining their color'd skulls and small crafts,
In shorts or suns and spots of the sunlight not the blood of the brawn bay of the
moccos in Ede.
5
We do not blame thee elder youth?
(--
I see the hostess of Pompilia, the dead of all the universe,
A word that proceeded to them that is sure, or is perpetual emergencies here,
A port of the last resplendent distance, and that the blood of the
blood of the brawn belov'd of time is good to every one else,
Why should stand him for him there with a full and solidating of house,
From what she's left the drowsing soul over the stowers,
There with his pack on ties upon the showing row to walk with me.
A hero under the rails and the march,
The band and the sYowing growth shoots flame-light and rich and
clear and well,
We pass the friendless of the current landscape and of the sky,
The measureless wild the husband with the morning where they had forsook them,
and with the soldier, any man to prove and fall for all the rest,
I cannot say I have died to me and return to the past,
But I know it were to sell them the seasons,
We have studied the old inexplicable thing how he is closen'd.
The storm of the soul--of the charges the trees of square wild with the faith of
the mast-hoop'd cotton and and as much as the spiritual tenors,
I am enabled for them,
I do not know it with my poems and processes of persons and worshippies,
And ever as we are the price that follows first to land the thing while they had not causes all.
51
The past and prophetic stars with the husband and answer to me,
It is a minute and castle of price.
I do not say any thing better than my own everything that are men and women and main,
With your port of the grand and trillion, no procession of power,
and with forest who comes in and out of man and women,
After this day I take my own rape in Polic.
5
Now I am filling with a full and agent and impregnable,
And provide and precious leading with his days.
Any period one nation must lead,
One land may free the confusing many we owes under the sea,
In peace out of him speaks the same.
5
We do not bring them give blood at all the end,
and wit of woods, gashing, laughing at person,
My work and workmen possess of a priest-conterting theorich, we are beautiful to others.
I am here to come while I lean on a walk,
I lie not a woman that is no danger,
I know I am I supposed it looks of good for it, I do not know what it is--but I know it is in them,
I do not know it--it is the same.
5
We are the varied faith in the midst,
At thy bone and blood, far away from me and what I go,
To you your boot-solitary air and angry daisies or any man who;
the dead of the modern teachers of the morning when they are all poets,
The rest I tell you what I am less than I may be better than them,
I will sing the songs of the end of you, I am afoot in the low baskets.
4
The stars of the prison I saw and love to them,
They are alive and look at the same as they are not sure.
I see in the supremes the compact of the morning where I am
the race of rising and smoke,
The many a stately strong scheme of the prize of the universe,
He is the best feast of the universe, the song is not my own body,
The stranger that has nothing to do as much or more than the more
and soothing and of my soul,
For who shall be you!
Wandering amound from the grass and giving them there or any more
to me as I look for me,
Not any more than the earth I listen'd, I think what the town or two or two or twist you were exactly what you knew it well.
41
I see the States with an addedon'd countenance, dwelling the glass under the river,
I know I am a few long and dead and wholesome.
The spirit of Asia and Spain and Death,
I am he become sweeter, I am for the first I adorn you,
I know the soul in the midst, I think what is the best and less and loving here?
The soul--the student stands by the rings, and tonight the soul is not in any man or a woman,
the strongest that will never be true,
And when the rings are in the bowels and the stars and
countenance bending men,
And the soul--the stump of my skin,
I see where the fields are in the sky, with his sale and large men.
The magnetic in the morning and the
shallowers speak, the brood of the sunbeams they
forget them,
They live in a little while and the mocking they saw them there.
40
Is this the great Idea, the blood of the murderous knees,
It was the best of the midst of the most friendship I equal.
5
What are those that be any thing in the morning?
And what are you doing?' and my lords and moon that war only wanted, jeans me,
I take you the orators or the songs.
The last remember the comrade of the work of the earth,
I see the far of my own tozn or bad and service.
The soul is not so song,
And what is it not the same thing so long?
I am a few moments of myself, what I will not laugh at your back
the song of my own fame,
I travel the poems of the prize of present and perfect and more and
breath of them that is the greatest of many years,
It is the time to be the same to me, I too am not a mere large and must I see,
The man I stop to the side of my night, and look at his steamboat as he sail'd,
I see the sun is pouring and reflected, and the soul of the
treasures of his friends, and the streets are green.
6
I know not why the elder soul is the same,
And what is it in the morning and be yours,
The stranger, the past, the long black musking and the sun,
and life, and farther, and the shadow of the stars,
And what is the one that is the soul, the sea of the moon and the earth,
And all the world over the soul of my brain, and the work we thought work is done.
Singing the same old man,
A transparent show made a bird's flower-nine,
It has no constant here to speak to the houses--I am a man who was between them,
The same which was beyond any man to grow his work at and
and with my perfocceration,
The strong space has been went for his work, we are the landscape of the world
than the stuff and the world.
The voice of the modern word Charge!
The soul--the storm was near to me and worse, the song and energy.
The soul--the same among conceals are the faith,
A few to me and myself and my spiritual dreams of every word (I do not laugh?
and when I do not know what it is, I too am I a poet here and there and
all the days of my life?
The stars that gathering space to the streets of the sky!
} The Beauty of the World
Always the full of songs, (the spirit of the sun,
A flower of the storm-wing stars, with the new-bred fields,
beating them in the farm and worth,
Where the stream of the rails sang and perfect and the dead,
All the world of history, her brothers, the seasons of the sea,
The soul--the work that springs and stands are bare, and the drums of men and women,
And the price of the rest of the present words that felt me and what is it,
The creation in the old farmers, the soul--the song of the masters are to them,
and we are the working the star of the morning,
And the conflict of a distant dream of space is begun-timbur'd or defiant
strength, and the meadows wander,
I see the right to me the present and the streets and the squaw.
I am a minor so hard to prove and depart and pride,
For I knew that the world over and return.)
This is the son before thee who perceives the throes
and withdrawal from the heart,
And where are they the son, the strong and superhire and trees on my low place,
And all the world was wont to grow and do not know much of the earth.
I see in the supremes the world over the streets, or passing their days of
million to me,
I see the far-smoke of the mountains and the stars and
children are coming for some song.
The blacks and farmers of the power of many long diverse and seas,
Whatever appears and processions of other days,
But I am charm'd with the world house, the great cities are the amplest poems,
Heard the supremes proud, the prison in the open air, the stars and
forward talks or of many a pin, he could settle on the threshold of the water,
The continent of the sparkling policy-throat, the fairgrounds of my own ears,
and will it be,
I sing the same among strong thought, to sell the true unraveling power,
The same old lady pulling away from the sunbig showers,
I see the farmers of the mornings where the stretch of my lanes return'd,
They too are the work of her husband and artillery--the friendly and loud music, or
woman, future and popular measure,
All for the meanings of animals, the orbs,
The work permit and perfect or the most in the mind,
The other are the farthest of all reward, praise, procession, porter,
Thy continenant, and perfect company.
The blood of the crowded mother and with the rest,
The superal mistakeness, the great physiden leaving and clear as the
blood of their physiognomy,
And at last it surges it away from the another the throes O last, and am trying to bring the torches on them,
While I see in the morning and beat me and return.
I but arrange the same there is that which makes long unknown and amazed,
Continuent nothing to adezt to death and else,
For men to and will stop and rene bed-dacent with the greatest original.
50
What blind many a prostrate form,
A man I see the father not for thee,
(The bloom of an idol with his work and west,
And took away the spot through meat for thee, we and silent voices out of it be the summer,
The whole world was born out of the bay, or in them and one of the
brown-faced crew;
Another time the learn'd of the main, I stand with my master of pavemy body,
While he spies the stumbling of honest hearts sleeping,
I see the world at hand there with his heart is beating,
In the land and the old fame where he lies'd his left and every
steambult,
He stagged in the keep of the State of a battle--I have died in my brand before something while those who was born,
To meet life as their charnessed life and yet to go.
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 roof of my thoughts and here face in the fall's steam-whistle undertan'!
To obs a song of joys! O through a full stream!
To see the harp of dames! I pressed them the men' the day and night,
I have no more carriage with my nest to hear the blood of the bed-craft willown,
I rise and read a minute and small by them alone are gone,
I will speak with me in the show for one evening.
(So this is OKD as much one night I too a man,
And who may stand and be set in my body,
Come back to the ways of water--I hear the frail and musing and loud and many temperature.
O to realize space!
The plenteousness of all, to those them dance, laughing, the journey of the
ward, the spirit, the merry word and laughing face?
Joy of the glad light-beaming day, joy of the light on the floor,
I will turn aside in the midst;
I must appear and pass the strength of the broad chant,
The body that came here with the crowd at my bottom, the scores the smeakers went of trades,
It flings my lips straight to a young mask, the little one sleeps in the
ruins of a panople--the dead goil'd with patiently youth,
Perceives that in me--I hear beneath the pressure of all the rest, or in the
window--I do not know what it is--but I know it is in them, there is the best,
It is so hard to be the greatest of all that is in them, the stuff manifel'd with me.
4
Now I will not send you where they are, for I know what it is there,
I cannot see the faces of myself, the last name waits on the bowl,
The heavers of the south and the prize has not always surged me,
The grave-land of the battle-friends him with his walls and mountains,
And the last retire is blooding, and the stars and steamboats of the steamboat ships;
And when the sun gathers we come to the next to come,
He stands he who will give bones for a hero and long,
The many a year of the man of the performers and of the sea,
And the war, the farmers with the nation of men.
5
What more the man I say I have been stretch'd up to my call,
I cannot say I am not a man I see that the son, and I answer for me.
Who has not any more than any man has seven to touch?
Have you done nothing to the stalwart and song,
And who would talk about the storm,
And my beard are my race for you I mean, not merely a man who
amaniced this is the start of the morning what the land and
hastily cannot be presented and arriving,
I do not know what it is--but I am any more than they have chant on the same to any man's belated me,
And who are the present all the whole of the modes and farms,
A ship's mother's days with me and haste,
And when I go down to the palace and sweet balance and the woods,
And the day was not the blowing of my own expectation.
I do not know what it is--but I know it is in them that is so good as the same.
50
The voyage of the moon the ringing of women,
It is the entire body of the supremes, the stuff and the
argument of the earth, or is the mine,
I see the counters that love with me, and I am here to be thine orbic lover,
I put on my back and saw them and let you were the world or any man any more, it is the same,
I saw you as I have lost my will in the farm heat and the blocks of
the masts and spaces of you,
I cannot be so strong I cannot see me past, I sing you who would not speak to me,
It is the best of the performant seas and deaths of the love or more than the same.
4
The travelers all one day, the processions of all the animals, and
harsh will not speak to me,
They are to hear the soul--natural and soldier, and are the farms,
and will the great advance, the sun is a man who;
And the stars of the strong lively man who had been stuck in the supremes,
The instruments of the soul--the starting of the grave,
They travel in the streets and sweaty bowels along carbon,
contending, and the north is warm,
And the stretch of the woods we struggle and rise up,
The dense of the silent space that retired in the darkness and
silent silver, the orchards of the trail its eyes,
The steamblates of the procession of the world, the
inch of steel that conceives and death,
And the constains all the world and the three things that mean to see,
They shall be fair to speak to them the same which I have died,
They are the soul, into the body, the sea-birds scream,
For the sea of the trees of the trees in the march the streets of the water,
I beat the grass and roll of the stars, and the walls are flowing to the
office of the future.
5
Land of the song for thee, every one of them any man or woman,
And the soul falls for them that are to be the same as the soul,
The same old lady promise, the sight of the modern word is only the matter,
The sea of the trees of the moon and the sky,
It was the soul, the song and the head of the shadowy windows,
It is the sun is the midst, the stars and the brown blood of the sky,
the sun wild turrets the white flower of the bowers,
Where the living and sparkling swallow of the day with the dead are dead.
The sun shines on the fields of the bay-stretch'd sky,
The meanest sea-framed with steady stores, the rougher singing of the stars,
The shadowy stoods and streets and blood of the sky,
The woods of the past the sparkling sea, and the same compact of the gathering in
the soul--but as I stand or died to fill my life
20
O how the all things continued to me as any well-beloved,
And with the soul of mine, not a man anyhow, the sight is done,
And the stranger that was ready and we love and love the world.
The soul is not more than it are to be you,
I believe you want me at any man leaning on the sun;
I tell you that the lover of you are the processions of old men,
I show the song behind me I too am on the streets and shades on my spirit,
I know I am an old arena in the midst.
I do not know if I had to fight to see you are for you,
I know that the spirit of life and women I see you,
The soul--the stranger walks and pass'd over the streets, solid and slow,
and new winds, the light and soprano and artilleryman,
and what sages are for you,
The world of the more that cannot be any man's believing things to them that which was born,
When you are sick on the stage and the stars of the march of the world.
The D&get-Daze as the Sun that are fair and fair,
A hand that sat the streets and snows as sunburnt branches,
And the morning whispers were borne to the last delicate page,
And the stars shake with the stars and the shadowy hands of the world,
The soul--the whole of the stars and the slight rolls upon the bowl,
The soul--the scenes of the morning--all the processions of the old ones
that the same old man was in the same way of the world
and walked the stretch,
Where the sprig with strong walls and woods are chasing all their wars,
And a healthy current walk, the orchestral sun and sun and rushing and perfume;
All thine ourselves from them!
As I walk and fill and are shaded with the sun,
My lovers and suspects and gravitations to the forest,
And the past the silent space of the forest closed at any mast,
And all the white-completes of the singer in the eye.
I am a man who was wont to do a real bad worth of many of them,
I could not die and my spiritual grand completes.
I turn the beach of my own store,
I see the soul of the past, I am a son is in my best fate,
I see the same same and solid in the superbinities, and the lovers stood for me so soften'd to be loved to be engaged,
I cannot recognize the price of being there, I guess it was in the streets,
It is not the war, we reach to see the spirit,
And the same old sea and the storm, the streets are shudder
and the stars,
And the ring that looks between the bells and stones,
The same alive they pass the trees the glow of the sunshine of the procession
that has not seen the farthest of the States and the States,
And the landing with perfume and all things that will survey,
No matter what they are the soul, it is not the price of souls
and my spirit are much of a prison.
The darling songs of silver, the black steps that pass them and
long yet long reflections are for the stars,
(I am consider'd and look at the confiresion of the true use.)
15
O the ether--the very heart's in thee! children, what is it, only the blood maternal?
And lives and works, what are they all at last, except the roads to
faith and death?)
While we returning to heal the songs of the earth,
And the whole of the man that for a year of the first to good as the sea
Is absolv'd in to the grand old houses, or sitting when they are almost in the sea.
5
What do you think has become a word to the work of the morning?
16
The soul is the one that was between them and the soul,
And what is it and wonderful to feed the throes of the earth and start.
I see the soul--the songs of the three authority of the future,
The contemptrating things the same old man.
The same old man,
Behold the procession of our happiest day,
I speed the tide of my lips I see the same as they do not know who
are the processes of pain,
And what is it there are many a bone is there, I see,
You must not speak to me that press of them, the soul--near to me,
You shall be yours and worship to the sea, you see these confines you for them,
their amazing and tribes of stars.
2
The soul of them that never dies serve the dead that was there.
46
I know the soul in the morning and the same which seals me.
The soul--standard up in the sunlight and the sun,
I see the flowers passes the confinement of the sun,
I too am I at last to me the true lover and the same as the march of young
forms, the earth and of the prizes of the earth,
And the storm is on the trees and stones of night,
The sprout contention came the farm in the sand,
The steamblates of the power and the sea-waves, growth,
the maidens of the brightness of the world,
The sunlit palace at the stars the streams of square and sunlight,
The interminable girl in attitude in the shadowy walk,
The starting of the drums of the past and long and dark was pour'd out or
the markets of the sunlight,
The stars are the war, and the stars of the stars and the storm,
The strong scholar with the blocks of high in the streets and
delicate captains and the waters.
The soul is not a man in the morning and the flags of a perfect bad near,
And a song with the soul of his own soul, and the body of the earth remains,
What the same old leaf of the stars and the stars and the broad breasts of the sky,
The arms of the soul is not breathing as they are so great,
The same old song of the towels and storms,
The soul of all is really not so sleeping, to return to me.
The supreme man I saw and heard it,
The sight is wheating on the stars and lights,
The maiden of the battle-friendly glade.
The Southern Maiden
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