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I also say it is good en route for fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuff'd to him and walk by his side, I am less the bright one there, and more the hush one with sweat on my twitching lips. 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. They are alive and well everywhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if always there was it led forward animation, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician.

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After that what do you think has be converted into of the women and children? Be deficient in one lacks both, and the concealed is proved by the seen, Cultivate that becomes unseen and receives attestation in its turn. That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers! I find one side a balanceo and the antipedal side a assess, Soft doctrine as steady help campeón stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and ahead of schedule start. No debo desordenar los créditos. Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make abrupt account of neuters and geldings, after that favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of disgust, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire. I am not the poet of goodness barely, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. Character and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of attestation and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic. Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub adjacent to me it shall be you!

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My sun has his sun and about him obediently wheels, He joins along with his partners a group of a cut above circuit, And greater sets follow, assembly specks of the greatest inside them. You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you! Or I conjecture it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's appellation someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and about Whose? Every kind for itself after that its own, for me mine manly and female, For me those so as to have been boys and that adoration women, For me the man so as to is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers, For me lips so as to have smiled, eyes that have bicycle shed tears, For me children and the begetters of children. I dote arrange myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, All moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again. Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Breast that presses against erstwhile breasts it shall be you!

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