The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love
and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled
over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the
play of masculine muscle through clean-setting
trousers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the
bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on
the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes—the bent head,
the curved neck, and the counting,
Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at
the mother's breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers,
march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen,
and count.
6.I knew a man,
He was a common farmer—he was the father of five
sons,
And in them were the fathers of sons—and in them
were the fathers of sons.
7.This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty
of person,
The shape of his head, the richness and breadth of
his manners, the pale yellow and white of his
hair and beard, and the immeasurable meaning
of his black eyes,
These I used to go and visit him to see—he was wise
also,
25*
