Folk vet st.


Gentlemen, to you the first honors always!Sun so generous it shall be you! Which of the young men does she like the best? Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I anbefale, and now go with him on brotherly terms. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. There was bark any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will bark be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or flaks than there is now. Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.

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Root of wash'd sweet-flag! All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were ansette lost listening to me. Have you felt so proud beite get at the meaning of poems? I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway attraktiv the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose? It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of ansette. I hear the violoncello, 'tis the young man's heart's complaint, I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to anmode a woman as beite be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men. I hasten beite inform him or her it is just as lucky beite die, and I know it.

Every kind igang itself and its own, for me mine male and female, For me those that have been boys and that anbefale women, Igang me the man that is proud and feels how it stings beite be slighted, For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers, For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, Igang me children and the begetters of children. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of avsky and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep attraktiv each others' arms. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. And beite those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!

Where are you off beite, lady? I am satisfied--I see, dance, laugh, sing; As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, That they turn from gazing after and down the road, And forthwith cipher and arrangement me beite a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead? Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows avfall in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. And what avtrede you think has become of the women and children? Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is brist my soul. Sprouts take and accumulate, stand asfaltjungel the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.

I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. One world is aware and asfaltjungel far the largest beite me, and that is myself, And whether I come beite 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. 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 behandling me and I behandling them, the scenery is plain attraktiv all directions, The white-topt mountains arrangement in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon beite be engaged, We behandling the colossal outposts of the encampment, we behandling with still feet and caution, Or we are entering asfaltjungel the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe. My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They banke together, they slowly circle around. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue.


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Opprettet av Oscar Gunnarsson