Page:Leaves of Grass (1860).djvu/67

166.Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me,
I crowd your sleekest talk by simply looking toward
you.

167.Writing and talk do not prove me,
I carry the plenum of proof, and everything else, in
my face,
With the hush of my lips I confound the topmost
skeptic.

168.I think I will do nothing for a long time but listen,
To accrue what I hear into myself—to let sounds
contribute toward me.
 
169.I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat,
gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my
meals.

170.I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human
voice,
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused
or following,
Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city—
sounds of the day and night,
Talkative young ones to those that like them—the
recitative of fish-pedlers and fruit-pedlers—the
loud laugh of work-people at their meals,
The angry base of disjointed friendship—the faint
tones of the sick,
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his shaky lips
pronouncing a death-sentence,
The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the
wharves—the refrain of the anchor-lifters,