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24 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 passing of blood and air through my
 * lungs,

The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the
 * shore, and dark-colored sea-rocks, and of hay in
 * the barn,

The sound of the belched words of my voice, words
 * 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 hill-sides,

The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of
 * me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckoned a thousand acres much? Have
 * you reckoned the earth much?

Have you practised so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of
 * poems?

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,