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From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so super stor vinne spilleautomaten slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.
12 The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market, I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.
O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days!Becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.52 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.If our colors are struck and the fighting done?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.I do not ask who you are, that slo spilleautomater houston is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.47 I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index.We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.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.Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire.You seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.