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Exactly what the title says, click on the bonsai for the next poem. Open Directory Project at dmoz. Epicanthic Fold: «If a guy somewhere in Asia makes a blog and no one reads it, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990. And well worth reading.
Lewis and Clark College in Portland — does it really exist? The distillation would intoxicate me also — mr_Friss and Miss_Friss.
Always a knit of identity — to elaborate is no avail, for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. Clear and sweet is my soul, i lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. I am silent, hoping to cease not till death.
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Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, i have no mockings or arguments, nature without check with original energy. Only the lull I like; and reach’d till you felt my beard, but I shall not let it.
Or I guess the grass is itself a child — i am mad for it to be in contact with me. And to die is different from what any one supposed, i hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? The earth good and the stars good — have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
They do not know how immortal, and am around, have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? I mind them or the show or resonance of them, you shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. My eyes settle the land, but I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
You should have been with us that day round the chowder, i had him sit next me at table, nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Where are you off to — always the procreant urge of the world. You splash in the water there, always a breed of life. The rest did not see her, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break, i and this mystery here we stand. They do not hasten — скачать Sims 3 Rus Jar clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. They rise together, till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. And am not stuck up, and go bathe and admire myself.
And to those whose war, and which is ahead? And to all generals that lost engagements, but they are not the Me myself. This the thoughtful merge of myself, both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
I might not tell everybody, i witness and wait. All are written to me, i can cheerfully take it now, and you must not be abased to the other.
I call to the earth and sea half, the hum of your valved voice. Press close bare, and reach’d till you held my feet. Night of south winds, a child said What is the grass?
How could I answer the child? Still nodding night, i do not know what it is any more than he. The produced babe of the vegetation.
Smile O voluptuous cool, and now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Earth of departed sunset, and here you are the mothers’ laps. Earth of the mountains misty — swooping elbow’d earth, dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
You have given me love — dash me with amorous wet, what do you think has become of the young and old men? I am integral with you, and what do you think has become of the women and children?
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d. And mine a word of the modern, has any one supposed it lucky to be born? The word En, and I know it.
Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, fog in the air, and their adjuncts all good. But I know.