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I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the causes of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship
That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be.
A morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the meta- physics metaphysics of books."
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest music to them. Vivas to those who have failed.
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass.
We closed with him—the yards entangled—the cannon touch'd; My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,(says my grandmother's father;) We have
Only three guns are in use; One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast; Two
Serene stands the little captain; He is not hurried—his voice is neither high nor low; His eyes give
The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets—but the pluck of the captain and engineers
All I mark as my own, you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
I know I am august; I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself, or be understood; I see that the
My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite; I laugh at what you call dissolution; And I know the
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs; On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches
Before I was born out of my mother, generations guided me; My embryo has never been torpid—nothing could
over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my
"My days I sing, and the land's:" this is the key-note.
I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship
That I walk up my stoop!
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows; The air tastes good to my palate.
O joy of my spirit uncaged—it hops like a bird on the grass mounds of earth.
O joy of my spirit
The first several lines of "Pictures" (not including this line) were revised and published as "My Picture-Gallery
A similar line in that poem reads: "O the joy of my spirit! It is uncaged!
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,(says my grandmother's father;) We have
my Captain!
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 1 O CAPTAIN! my captain!
Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my captain lies.
Fallen cold and dead. 2 O captain! my captain!