Page:Leaves of Grass (1860).djvu/287

2.Sauntering the pavement, or crossing the ceaseless
ferry, here then are faces,
I see them and complain not, and am content with
all.

3.Do you suppose I could be content with all, if I
thought them their own finale?

4.This now is too lamentable a face for a man,
Some abject louse, asking leave to be—cringing for it,
Some milk-nosed maggot, blessing what lets it wrig to
its hole.

5.This face is a dog's snout sniffling for garbage;
Snakes nest in that mouth—I hear the sibilant threat.

6.This face is a haze more chill than the arctic sea.
Its sleepy and wobbling icebergs crunch as they go.

7.This is a face of bitter herbs—this an emetic—they
need no label.
And more of the drug-shelf, laudanum, caoutchouc,
or hog's-lard.

8.This face is an epilepsy, its wordless tongue gives out
the unearthly cry.
Its veins down the neck distend, its eyes roll till they
show nothing but their whites,
Its teeth grit, the palms of the hands are cut by the
turned-in nails,
The man falls struggling and foaming to the ground
while he speculates well.

9.This face is bitten by vermin and worms.
And this is some murderer's knife with a half-pulled
scabbard.