What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?
You seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?
21 I red dot annonces femmes am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new.Perhaps I might tell more.Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay.Have you outstript the rest?I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And 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.
They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age.
Smile, for your lover comes.
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
44 It is time to explain myself-let us stand.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.What have you to confide to me?You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing.What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever.