ONE'S-SELF I sing--a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.
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As I ponder'd in silence,
Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,
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YOU who celebrate bygones!
Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races--the life
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FOR him I sing,
I raise the Present on the Past,
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WHEN I read the book, the biography famous,
And is this, then, (said I,) what the author calls a man's life?
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BEGINNING my studies, the first step pleas'd me so much,
The mere fact, consciousness--these forms--the power of motion,
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TO thee, old Cause!
Thou peerless, passionate, good cause!
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LO! THE unbounded sea!
On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sails--an ample
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STRANGER! if you, passing, meet me, and desire to speak to me, why
should you not speak to me?
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TO THE garden, the world, anew ascending,
Potent mates, daughters, sons,&nbs
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A MASK--a perpetual natural disguiser of herself,
Concealing her face, concealing her form,
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FROM pent-up, aching rivers;
From that of myself, without which I were&
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SPONTANEOUS me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I&
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ONE hour to madness and joy!
O furious! O confine me not!
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WE two--how long we were fool'd!
Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as&
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NATIVE moments! when you come upon me--Ah you are here now! Give me now
libidinous joys
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ONCE I pass'd through a populous city, imprinting my brain, for
future use, with its shows, architecture, customs, and
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FACING west, from California's shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is
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AGES and ages, returning at intervals,
Undestroy'd, wandering immortal,
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O HYMEN! O hymenee!
Why do you tantalize me thus?
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AS Adam, early in the morning,
Walking forth from the bower, refresh'd with sleep;
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I HEARD you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I
pass'd the church;
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I AM he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all
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MY spirit to yours, dear brother;
Do not mind because many, sounding&nb
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ONLY themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,
As Souls only understand Souls.
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IN paths untrodden,
In the growth by margins of pond-waters,
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SCENTED herbage of my breast,
Leaves from you I yield, I write, to
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WHOEVER you are, holding me now in hand,
Without one thing, all wi
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THESE, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers,
(For who but I sh
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With the love of comrades,
With the life-long love of comrades.
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