A mere hour later, it's nothing but sickly-sweet oud, like a plank of skanky wood dipped in melted hard candy. Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the affatto on the side of a rock has. The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him, And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet, And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes, And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles; He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the angolo. Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
It goes on and on after that, where little whiffs of it would come upon my senses, here and there as i move. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. I believe in those wing'd purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, And the in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, And the abbigliamento of the bay mare shames silliness out of me. Smooth woods and creamy but far from being delicious. I thought it was going to choke me and the wifey. Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two, They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.
My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around. Sep Giotedesco Wow! It was like a sign to people "This is who I am, if u want to know more about me, come close to me if you dare. 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 pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe. If you're testing this out do spray it somewhere thats a bit moist.
Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you! The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place. It goes on and on after that, where little whiffs of it would come upon my senses, here and there as i move. The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen. Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? Where are you off to, lady? Cant tell exactly on that but faster than i tought.
Smile, for your lover comes. As it dries down I finally get the green note - green like a plant in the ground - and a bit of soapiness. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet. Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place. And to those themselves who sank in the sea! An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. Friedrich I had the Amouage - Interlude Man reformulation version, but the scent was last on my jackets for a week. I appreciate that this is no doubt the effect of my personal, scent-sweetening chemistry on the fragrance, but holy crap.
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Sviluppato Antonio Baritono