https://youtube/watch?v=j1uWvvMsL5w I had always hoped hed play Walt Whitman some day in a film or a play... perhaps he already had. The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me—he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable; 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 flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love; If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles. 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. Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged; Missing me one place, search another; I stop somewhere, waiting for you.
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 02:27:29 +0000