I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you! Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming. 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 show me to a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead? I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves. The lovely maid and the lady tall. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail in the long run, We should surely bring up again where we now stand, And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther. This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again. Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me! ‘Song of Myself’: A Poem by Walt Whitman –. This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger, It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appointments with all, I will not have a single person slighted or left away, The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited, The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited; There shall be no difference between them and the rest. Do you see O my brothers and sisters? A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat; But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet. I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them? After a long silence, the head was lifted for another moment, and the voice replied, "Yes--I am working. " Said Christabel, How camest thou here? Fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. But we have all bent low and low bred. When I have bent Judah for me, filled the bow with Ephraim, and raised up thy sons, O Zion, against thy sons, O Greece, and made thee as the sword of a mighty man. Or sailor from the sea? A lady so richly clad as she—. Sir Leoline, a moment's space, Stood gazing on the damsel's face: And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine. And he said to her, What is his form? Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. I'd like to get away from earth awhile. My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent, Who all give back, one after t'other, The death-note to their living brother; And oft too, by the knell offended, Just as their one! Red Hanrahan's Song About Ireland, by W. B. Yeats | : poems, essays, and short stories. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The Lord loves the godly. Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has. Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.
Thy power to declare, That in the dim forest. But they without its light can see. Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, And jealous of the listening air. They spurred amain, their steeds were white: And once we crossed the shade of night.
The maid, devoid of guile and sin, I know not how, in fearful wise, So deeply she had drunken in. Our foe was no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he, ). Have you practis'd so long to learn to read? It is on this same cold, smooth tile that I kneel hours later, face inches away from the burn on Makerere's calf. Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuff'd to him and walk by his side, (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips. The crowing cock, How drowsily it crew. 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 I have I bestow. But we have all bent low and low georgetown 11s. The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare, For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air; Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood; But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood. And at the end of these days, I bend next to the bed and I ask only that I could bend more, bend lower, because I serve a Savior who came to be a servant. They are bent down, they are falling together: they were not able to keep their images safe, but they themselves have been taken prisoner. And thus it chanced, as I divine, With Roland and Sir Leoline. I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth. To the lady by her side, Praise we the Virgin all divine.
I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd. With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums, I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer'd and slain persons. Red Hanrahan's Song About Ireland, By WB Yeats - Irish Poem. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy. To search out what might there be found; And what the sweet bird's trouble meant, That thus lay fluttering on the ground.
Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms. The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, They do not think whom they souse with spray. Home to your noble father's hall. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such a wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. But now they are jubilant anew, From cliffand tower, tu—whoo! Her bosom and half her side—. Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Crouch (8 instances). Have been the lovely lady's prison. I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches. She might be sent without delay.
My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them. Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain. And Jesus having bent himself back, and having seen no one but the woman, said to her, 'Woman, where are those -- thine accusers? And half grant what I wish and snatch me away. The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain, The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois'd on one leg on the string-piece, His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over his hip-band, His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead, The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of his polish'd and perfect limbs. I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, and naiveté, Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes. By William Butler Yeats. Twist (12 instances). I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps. I am enamour'd of growing out-doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out. Casting down her large bright eyes, With blushing cheek and courtesy fine. Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away.