and go and preach to the world;
You shall see I will not meet a single heretic or scorner,
You shall see how I stump clergymen, and confound them,
You shall see me showing a scarlet tomato, and a white pebble from
the beach.
Similar Posts
OTHERS may praise what they like;
art, or aught else,Till it has well inhaled the atmosphere of this river–also thewestern prairie-scent,And fully exudes it again.
CHANTING the square deific, out of the One advancing, out of the
Out of the old and new–out of the square entirely divine,Solid, four-sided, (all the sides needed)… from this side JEHOVAHam I,Old Brahm I, and I Saturnius am;Not Time affects me–I am Time, old, modern as any;Unpersuadable, relentless, executing righteous judgments;As the Earth, the Father, the brown old Kronos, with laws,Aged beyond computation–yet ever new–ever with…
TWO boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still,
they drop the join’d seine-ends in the water,The boats separate and row off, each on its rounding course to thebeach, enclosing the mossbonkers,The net is drawn in by a windlass by those who stop ashore,Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats, others stand ankle-deepin the water, pois’d on strong legs,The boats partly drawn up,…
THAT music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning–yet long untaught
But now the chorus I hear, and am elated;A tenor, strong, ascending, with power and health, with glad notes ofday-break I hear,A soprano, at intervals, sailing buoyantly over the tops of immensewaves,A transparent bass, shuddering lusciously under and through theuniverse,The triumphant tutti–the funeral wailings, with sweet flutes andviolins–all these I fill myself with;I hear not…
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.The last scud of day holds back for me,It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,I effuse my…
FAR hence, amid an isle of wondrous beauty,
Once a queen–now lean and tatter’d, seated on the ground,Her old white hair drooping dishevel’d round her shoulders;At her feet fallen an unused royal harp,Long silent–she too long silent–mourning her shrouded hope andheir;Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow, because most full oflove.Yet a word, ancient mother;You need crouch there no longer…