Why should I venerate and be ceremonious?
I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, ee besparelser obligationer løbetid datoer You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.What do you think has become of the young and old men?Somehow I have been stunn'd.Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And kvinde bern whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire.Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with.The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.Vivas to those who have fail'd!
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.) I hear and behold God.
Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves.Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?How the flukes splash!That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning.Perhaps I might tell more.I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place.O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.From the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them.