Song of Myself. Won't you help support Day. Poems? 1. 81. 9- 1. I celebrate myself, and sing myself.

Btw Wing here’s d “A fistful of stances 鐵馬尋橋” by Kevin Cheng in full: A fistful of stances Watch, listen n dl Song in full: http://v.youku.com/v_show/id. Daddy-Long-Legs has 29,484 ratings and 2,888 reviews. Ahmad said: Daddy-Long-Legs, Jean Websterعنوان: بابا لنگ دراز؛ نویسنده: جین. You have not yet voted on this site! If you have already visited the site, please help us classify the good from the bad by voting on this site.

And what I assume you shall assume. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air. Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their. I, now thirty- seven years old in perfect health begin. Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance.

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Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten. I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard. Nature without check with original energy. Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with. I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it.

The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the.

It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it. I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked. I am mad for it to be in contact with me. The smoke of my own breath. Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love- root, silk- thread, crotch and vine. My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing.

The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and. The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of. A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms. The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag. The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields.

The feeling of health, the full- noon trill, the song of me rising. Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?

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Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of. You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions. You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through. You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me. You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the. But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now. Nor any more youth or age than there is now. And will never be any more perfection than there is now. Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Urge and urge and urge.

Always the procreant urge of the world. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and. Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well. Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical. I and this mystery here we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen. Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age. Heartland Full Movie In English. Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they. I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean. Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be.

I am satisfied- -I see, dance, laugh, sing. As the hugging and loving bed- fellow sleeps at my side through the night. Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with.

Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes. That they turn from gazing after and down the road. And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent. Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead? Trippers and askers surround me.

People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and. I live in, or the nation. The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new. My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues. The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love.

The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill- doing or loss. Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news. These come to me days and nights and go from me again. But they are not the Me myself. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am. Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary.

Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest. Looking with side- curved head curious what will come next. Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with. I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you. And you must not be abased to the other. Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat. Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not.

Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning.

How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me. And parted the shirt from my bosom- bone, and plunged your tongue.

And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet. Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass. And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own. And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own. And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women. And that a kelson of the creation is love. And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields.

And brown ants in the little wells beneath them. And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and.

A child said What is the grass? How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green. Watch Obituary For Escobar Online Mic. 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. Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic. And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones.

Growing among black folks as among white. Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass.

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men. It may be if I had known them I would have loved them. It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out. Watch The Disappearance Of Lenka Wood Online (2017). And here you are the mothers' laps. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers.

Darker than the colorless beards of old men. Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues. And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women. And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken. What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere. The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the.

And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses. And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. Has any one supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new- wash'd babe, and. And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good.

The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good. I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth. I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and. They do not know how immortal, but I know.).

Daddy- Long- Legs (Daddy- Long- Legs, #1) by Jean Webster. You should read this review if: 1. You haven’t read this book and need to know why you should,or. You’ve read this book, but need to know about the connection between Daddy- Long- Legs and J. D. Salinger.(Okay, or: 3.

Regardless of whether or not you’ve read this book, you now think I’ve been smoking something I shouldn’t have been. Please read this review so I can convince you otherwise. Thank you.)There is something to be said for not having read the classics as a kid – provided, of course, you steal time as an adult to catch up on everything you’ve missed. There’s nothing like finding out the fun way, in your 2. This isn’t always the case.

I can’t guarantee you’ll shriek, “Where have you BEEN all my life?” if you pick up, say, Gargantuan and Pantagruel. But I’ve had two separate friends express their startled delight that Anna Karenina is not only not too hard for mere mortals to read, but is in fact a moving and engrossing read (and a ripping good one at that). I myself missed out on To Kill A Mockingbird until I was in my 4.

I only finally read it because I got too embarrassed about having to admit that I hadn’t and I’m a lousy liar.)So: Daddy- Long- Legs is an absolute delight. I figured it would be cute and, given how long ago it was written, probably pretty sappy. That’s okay. I can deal with a little sap. Sometimes I even like it. But the young narrator, Jerusha Abbott, is mercilessly sharp and laugh- out- loud funny. Put it to you this way: My son decided to read this after he kept cracking up from all the bits I read out loud to him at the breakfast table.

He’s a sixteen- year- old EDM aficionado. If you’re still holding out, I don’t know what to tell you. This is the story of a girl who insists on being her own spiky, sharp, funny self in spite of growing up in an orphanage whose goal, as Jerusha puts it, “is to turn the ninety- seven orphans into ninety- seven twins.” This is not “virtue rewarded” in the usual sense of the phrase. Jerusha is given a scholarship to college thanks to her excellent writing. The essay that snagged her this scholarship was a bitterly funny piece about the orphanage. I LOVE the fact that Jerusha escapes a horrible situation by speaking up about how awful it is.

Yes, I’ve been reading too many Regency- era novels about how women who suffer ills and abuses patiently are rewarded. This book was the perfect antidote. Here’s something else I didn’t expect from this book: a Salinger connection. I recently reread The Catcher in the Rye. If you’ve read it, too, you’ll probably recall that the narrator, Holden Caulfield, starts this book having less than a wonderful day. Specifically, he just found out he’s being expelled from his swanky boarding school.

He goes to his room to try to relax with a book: “I’d only read about three pages, though, when I heard somebody coming through the shower curtains. Even without looking up, I knew right away who it was. It was Robert Ackley, this guy that roomed right next to me. Nobody ever called him anything except ‘Ackley.’ Not even Herb Gale, his own roommate, ever called him ‘Bob’ or even ‘Ack.’ If he ever gets married, his own wife’ll probably call him ‘Ackley.’”That’s a funny passage.

It also emphasizes Ackley’s name. It becomes clear very quickly that Holden isn’t fond of Ackley at the best of times. Today he finds him particularly annoying because Ackley won’t let him read. No matter how often Holden hints that he’s reading, or at least he’d like to be, annoying Ackley just won’t leave.

Okay. Big deal. Way to be random, Deborah. EXCEPT. Here is a wonderful passage from Daddy- Long- Legs, part of a chapter in which the narrator has been listing all the reasons it’s been a lousy day at school. Jerusha has mentioned earlier that the best part of every day for her is the evening, when she curls up to read – not assigned reading, but “just plain books” to make up for all the lost time at the bookless orphanage.)“Friday is sweeping day, and the maid had mixed all the papers on my desk. We had tombstone for dessert (milk and gelatin flavored with vanilla). We were kept in chapel twenty minutes later than usual to listen to a speech about womanly women. And then – just as I was settling down with a sigh of well- earned relief to The Portrait of a Lady, a girl named Ackerly, a dough- faced, deadly, unintermittently stupid girl, who sits next to me in Latin because her name begins with A, came to ask if Monday’s lesson commenced at paragraph 6. ONE HOUR. She has just gone.”Am I one of those Salinger conspiracy- theorist weirdos, or does it sound like Salinger liked Daddy- Long- Legs and paid it a strange little tribute in his best- known book?

You should read Daddy- Long- Legs and decide for yourself. If you’ve already read it but it’s been a long time, you should read it again and see how much fun it is to read classics when you’re a chronological grownup and can decide for yourself what you feel like reading.