NOT heaving from my ribb'd breast only; <br /> Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself; <br /> Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs; <br /> Not in many an oath and promise broken; <br /> Not in my wilful and savage soul's volition; <br /> Not in the subtle nourishment of the air; <br /> Not in this beating and pounding at my temples and wrists; <br /> Not in the curious systole and diastole within, which will one day <br /> cease; <br /> Not in many a hungry wish, told to the skies only; <br /> Not in cries, laughter, defiances, thrown from me when alone, far in <br /> the wilds; 10 <br /> Not in husky pantings through clench'd teeth; <br /> Not in sounded and resounded words--chattering words, echoes, dead <br /> words; <br /> Not in the murmurs of my dreams while I sleep, <br /> Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of every day; <br /> Nor in the limbs and senses of my body, that take you and dismiss you <br /> continually--Not there; <br /> Not in any or all of them, O adhesiveness! O pulse of my life! <br /> Need I that you exist and show yourself, any more than in these <br /> songs.<br /><br />Walt Whitman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-heaving-from-my-ribb-d-breast-only/
