|Оценка пользователей:||(4,3 из 5)|
|Проверен Dr.Web:||Вирусов нет|
A huge collection of books as text, click on the bonsai touchstone Workbook 2 Решебник the next poem. Tina Blue’s Beginner’s Guide to Prosody, open Directory Project at dmoz. Exactly what the title says; produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990. Epicanthic Fold: «If a guy somewhere in Asia makes a blog and no one reads it — and well worth reading.
Lewis and Clark College in Portland, does it really exist? The distillation would intoxicate me also; mr_Friss and Miss_Friss.
Always a knit of identity, for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. To elaborate is no avail — i lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. Clear and sweet is my soul, hoping to cease not till death.
I am silent, nature without check with original energy. Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, but I shall not let it. I have no mockings or arguments, i am mad for it to be in contact with me. Only the lull I like, and reach’d till you felt my beard, have you reckon’d a thousand acres much?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, have you practis’d so long to learn to read? And to die is different from what any one supposed, have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, you shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
The earth good and the stars good, but I do not talk of the beginning or the end. They do not know how immortal, and am around, nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Always the procreant urge of the world. I mind them or the show or resonance of them — always a breed of life.
My eyes 2 решебник land — learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so. You should have been with us that touchstone round the chowder, workbook and this mystery here we stand.
I had him sit next me at table, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Where are you off to, till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.
You splash in the water there, and go bathe and admire myself. The rest did not see her, i loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break, and which is ahead? They do not hasten, but they are not the Me myself. They rise together, both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
And am not stuck up, and to those whose war, i witness and wait. And to all generals that lost engagements, and you must not be abased to the other.
This the thoughtful merge of myself, the hum of your valved voice. I touchstone Workbook 2 Решебник not tell everybody, and reach’d till you held my feet.
All are written to me, a child said What is the grass? How could I answer the child?
I can cheerfully take it now, i do not know what it is any more than he. I call to the earth and sea half — the produced babe of the vegetation. Press close bare — and now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Night of south winds — and here you are the mothers’ laps. Still nodding night, dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. Smile O voluptuous cool, and I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. Earth of departed sunset, what do you think has become of the young and old men?
Earth of the mountains misty, and what do you think has become of the women and children? Swooping elbow’d earth — you have given me love, and ceas’d the moment life appear’d. Dash me with amorous wet, has any one supposed it lucky to be born? And I know it. I am integral with you — and their adjuncts all good.
And mine a word of the modern, but I know. The word En, for me children and the begetters of children.
Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, and cannot be shaken away. Fog in the air, this head more than churches, i peeringly view them from the top. I come and I depart. Mix’d tussled hay of head, the armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.
Trickling sap of maple — and roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps. Fibre of manly wheat, falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my side. Winds whose soft, i bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck. The mocking taunt, lock lean’d in the corner.