21 The smoke of my own breath, 22 Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, 23 My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, 24 The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, 25 The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, 26 A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, 27 The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, 28 The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, 29 The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. 3 38 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, 39 But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
59 I am satisfied -- I see, dance, laugh, sing; 60 As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, 61 Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, 62 Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, 63 That they turn from gazing after and down the road, 64 And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, 65 Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?
4 66 Trippers and askers surround me, 67 People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, 68 The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, 69 My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues, 70 The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love, 71 The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations, 72 Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events; 73 These come to me days and nights and go from me again, 74 But they are not the Me myself.
44 Urge and urge and urge, 45 Always the procreant urge of the world.
46 Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, 47 Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
111 Tenderly will I use you curling grass, 112 It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, 113 It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, 114 It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps, 115 And here you are the mothers' laps.