Becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the juego tragamonedas gratis queen of hearts ambush'd womb of the shadows.
This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now.
Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.You seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?Why casino on line gratis tragamonedas y sin registrarse should I wish to see God better than this day?Firm masculine colter it shall be you!2, houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes, I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let.Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one.O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days!Sit a while dear son, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence.Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last.Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years; It is middling well as far as it goes-but is that all?
My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine.Quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers.I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems.What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his blanket, The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon, The young mother and old mother comprehend me, The girl and the wife rest the needle.