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A Woman Waits For Me

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AN 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.

Sex contains all,

Bodies,

Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results,        promulgations,

Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal        milk;

All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,

All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth,

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.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his        sex,                                                        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;

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.

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,

They are ultimate in their own right—they are calm, clear, well-        possess'd of themselves.                                    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;

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,

I brace myself effectually—I listen to no entreaties,            I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated        within me.

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 distill upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls, new        artists, musicians, and singers,

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,

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,

I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,        immortality,

I plant so lovingly now.

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Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman (May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist, and journalist. A humanist, he was a part of the transition between…

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