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Rh The rich coverlid of the grass—animals and birds—
 * the private untrimmed bank—the primitive apples
 * —the pebble-stones,

Beautiful dripping fragments—the negligent list of
 * one after another, as I happen to call them to me,
 * or think of them,

The real poems, (what we call poems being merely
 * pictures,)

The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men
 * like me,

This poem, drooping shy and unseen, that I always
 * carry, and that all men carry,

(Know, once for all, avowed on purpose, wherever are
 * men like me, are our lusty, lurking, masculine,
 * poems,)

Love-thoughts, love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding, love-climbers,
 * and the climbing sap,

Arms and hands of love—lips of love—phallic thumb
 * of love—breasts of love—bellies pressed and
 * glued together with love.

Earth of chaste love—life that is only life after
 * love,

The body of my love—the body of the woman I
 * love—the body of the man—the body of the
 * earth,

Soft forenoon airs that blow from the south-west, The hairy wild-bee that murmurs and hankers up and
 * down—that gripes the full-grown lady-flower,
 * curves upon her with amorous firm legs, takes
 * his will of her, and holds himself tremulous and
 * tight upon her till he is satisfied,

The wet of woods through the early hours,