I act as the tongue of you, ... tied in your mouth . . . . in mine it begins to be loosened.

The earth does not argue, Is not pathetic, has no arrangements, Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise, Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures, Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out.

Agonies are one of my changes of garments.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.

Copulation is no more foul to me than death is.

And your very flesh shall be a great poem.

It is only the novice in political economy who thinks it is the duty of government to make its citizens happy - government has no such office.