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3   The love of the Body of man or woman balks ac-     count — the body itself balks account;
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is      perfect.
4  The expression of the face balks account;
But the expression of a well-made man appears not      only in his face;
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the      joints of his hips and wrists;
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of      his waist and knees — dress does not hide him;
The strong, sweet, supple quality he has, strikes      through the cotton and flannol;
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem,      perhaps more;
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck      and shoulder-side.
5  The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and      heads of women, the folds of their dress, their      style as we pass in the street, the contour of      their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming bath, seen as he      swims through the transparent green-shine, or      lies with his face up, and rolls silently to and      fro in the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-     boats — the horseman in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their perform-     ances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their      open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child — the farmer's daughter in      the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn — the sleigh-driver      guiding his six horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite      grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on      the vacant lot at sun-down, after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love      and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled      over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play      of masculine muscle through clean-setting      trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell      strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the      alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes — the bent head,      the curv'd neck, and the counting;
Such-like I love — I loosen myself, pass freely, am at      the mother's breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march      in line with the firemen, and pause, listen,      and count.