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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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A WOMAN WAITS FOR ME.
A WOMAN waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking, |
Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the
right man were lacking.
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Sex contains all, bodies, souls, |
Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations, |
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal
milk,
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All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves, beauties,
delights of the earth,
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All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the earth, |
These are contain'd in sex as parts of itself and justifications of
itself.
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Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness
of his sex,
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Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers. |
Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women, |
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women
that are warm-blooded and sufficient for me,
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I see that they understand me and do not deny me, |
I see that they are worthy of me, I will be the robust husband
of those women.
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They are not one jot less than I am, |
They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds, |
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength, |
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,
retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
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They are ultimate in their own right—they are calm, clear, well-
possess'd of themselves.
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I draw you close to me, you women, |
I cannot let you go, I would do you good, |
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but
for others' sakes,
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Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards, |
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me. |
It is I, you women, I make my way, |
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you, |
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you, |
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these States, I
press with slow rude muscle,
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I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties, |
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated
within me.
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Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself, |
In you I wrap a thousand onward years, |
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America, |
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls,
new artists, musicians, and singers,
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The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn, |
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings, |
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you
interpenetrate now,
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I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I
count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
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I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death, immortality,
I plant so lovingly now.
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