The system maintenance scheduled for December 28th to December 29th, has been extended. We appreciate your patience while we complete this maintenance. Twitter pumps lecture notes pdf product support, useful tips, downtime information, and more. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. Hoping to cease not till death. Nature without check with original energy. The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

I am mad for it to be in contact with me. Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? Have you practis’d so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Always the procreant urge of the world. To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so. I and this mystery here we stand. Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. But they are not the Me myself. I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. And you must not be abased to the other. Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. A child said What is the grass? How could I answer the child?

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. And here you are the mothers’ laps. Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. What do you think has become of the young and old men? And ceas’d the moment life appear’d. Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?

They do not know how immortal, but I know. For me children and the begetters of children. I peeringly view them from the top. The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow. And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome. Which of the young men does she like the best? Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room. The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. Little streams pass’d all over their bodies. It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. They do not think whom they souse with spray.

I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down. They do not hasten, each man hits in his place. I go with the team also. Absorbing all to myself and for this song. It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

They rise together, they slowly circle around. And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me. Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky. I see in them and myself the same old law. They scorn the best I can do to relate them.