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51 The past and present wilt-I have fill'd them, emptied them.
Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all.
I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.
Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.Where are you off to, lady?27 To be in any form, what is that?I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and.Back to top DayPoems Poem.Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down!Won't you help support DayPoems?Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets-but the pluck of the captain and engineers?In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture-but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?49 And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm.I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was sex tilbys starter beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight.It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass.I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems.
It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.
10 Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt, Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee, In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night, Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game, Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with.