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Leaves of grass (1872) | ||
52
360
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me—he complains of my gab and my loitering.361
I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable;I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
362
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.
363
I depart as air—I shake my white locks at the runaway sun;I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
364
I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love;If you want me again, look for me under your bootsoles.
365
You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean;But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
366
Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged;Missing me one place, search another;
I stop somewhere, waiting for you.
Leaves of grass (1872) | ||