The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the apice. Do you take it I would astonish? 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. Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves. Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases. I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets.
Vivas to those who have fail'd! Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving. O unspeakable passionate love. I do not know what it is any more than he. Do you take it I would astonish?
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. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! 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. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.
Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand. I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, And here you are the mothers' laps. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low. Not a moment's cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. Earth of departed sunset--earth of the mountains misty-topt!
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Sviluppato Antonio Baritono