The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections.

I hate commas in the wrong places.

Joy, shipmate, joy! (Pleased to my soul at death I cry), Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last, she leaps! She swiftly courses from the shore, Joy, shipmate, joy!

This is the city, and I am one of the citizens/Whatever interests the rest interests me

As soon as histories are properly told there is no more need of romances.

The city sleeps and the country sleeps, the living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, the old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife; and these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, and such as it is to be of these more or less I am, and of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

Are you the new person drawn toward me? To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose.