I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes? The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, there are millions of suns left, You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, 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. The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him, And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet, And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes, And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles; He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the corner. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. Chamberlain had owned a livery stable in downtown Santa Rosa for years, but was forced to vacate his business through eminent domain when the city wanted to build their new city hall on Chamberlain's property. My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around. 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 less familiar than the rest. I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. The most rainfall in one month was I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches. In the summer, fog and low overcast often move in from the Pacific Ocean during the evenings and mornings.