I Celebrate Myself

I celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease...observing a spear
of summer grass.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes...the
shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and
like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I
shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume...it has no
taste of the distillation...it is doorless,
It is for my mouth forever....I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become
undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echos, ripples, and buzzed whispers...loveroot,
silkthread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration...the beating of
my heart...the passing of blood and air
through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the
shore and darkcolored sea-rocks, and of hay in
the barn,
The sound of the belched words of my voice...
words loosed to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses...a few embraces...a
reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the
supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or
along the field and the hillsides,
The feeling of health...the full-noon trill...
the song of me rising from bed and meeting the
sun.