North American, US General American (GenAm)
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
from the song of myself by walt Whitman. I celebrate myself and sing myself, and what I assume you shall assume, for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loaf and invite my soul. I lean and loaf at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass, my tongue, every atom of my blood formed from this soil. This air born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same. I now, 37 years old in perfect health, begin hoping to see snot till death, creeds and schools and obedience, retiring back awhile. 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 perfumes. 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 distillation. It is odorless. 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, buzzed, whispers. Love root, silk thread crotch, and vine, my respiration and inspiration. The beating of my heart. The path thing of blood and air through. My lungs. The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and the shore, and the dark colored sea rocks and of hay in the barn the sound of the belched words of my voice loosed to the eddies of the wind. 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 and hillsides, the feeling of health, the full moon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. Have you reckoned 1000 acres much? Have you reckoned the earth much? Have you practiced so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and a 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 specters 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 yourself