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thedepthsoffandomminds · 1 year ago

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The guest PT 20

Masterlist

Your body was slowly sucked through the floor until you were once more opening your eyes into Government house, covered in dust. This was the third time running down the same corridor.

Again and again you would run through the house, through the meadow and the apartment. Your feet felt raw from your movements, your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

"Jack please, help me. Jack I'm fading." You called out to him one last time.

*_*_*_*

Jack jumped through your balcony window, after hours of fighting against his emotions to find a way to save you he had finally found some hope.

"Y/n, I've had an idea." He says moving across the room. His eyes fall on your body lying on the floor. His heart drops into his stomach and he kneels beside you.

"y/n? No, no, no. Y/n please." You lifted you up into his arms turning you to face him. Your heavy eyes look up to him.

"Jack I'm fading." You cough out.

"No, I have you I'm here, please come on, stay with me." He begged you. His heart breaking.

"I keep shifting between worlds. Jack I'm frightened." You clutch at his burgundy frock coat.

"Okay, okay come on, let's get you to the hospital. I think I can do it!" He stands, pulling you up with him so you're cradled against his body. He rushes through the house and out to a delivery cart. Jack places your body onto the flatbed and climbs in behind you.

"Drive. Fast. Please." He begs the driver, "She's dying." The driver nods and kicks the pony into movement. Jack held onto you, keeping you as still as he could and the cart bounced along the road.

"Jack" you hold onto him as your mind drifts between the dreams. Though now with him beside you he was always there holding you to his chest. His warmth echoed. around you and you felt peace for your mind, even though your body was hurting. Every inch of your body felt.like it was on fire, the muscles cramping, fighting against the swelling in your heart.

"It's okay, I'm going to save you. Please just stay with me." He sobbed against you.

When at last the cart pulled up to the hospital Jack pulled you off and rushed inside.

"Hetty! Prepare the surgery! Where are Sneed and Belle?" He called out as he rushed to the operating room.

Upon seeing you wrapped in his arms Hetty panicked, "Catgut, ether! Carbolic acid, now!" She shouted at the other nurses. "You, to the morgue get Doctor Sneed!"

Jack places you on the table, and pressed a kiss to your lips.

"I'm sorry, y/n,I love you." He says between kisses, "I'm going to.fix you and then we'll get married, okay? We'll be together forever." His words are broken by his tears.

Sneed and Belle come running into the room with Hetty and other nurses. It's a rush of people that you hardly notice, your eyes fixed on Jack's. You can no longer take in your own breaths, each one catching in your throat. You whimper against his lips.

*_*_*_*

Fagin saw Oliver sitting below a gazebo, a plate piled high with glorious foods.

"Ah, Nolly, my lad." He said with false glee.

"Fagin. Well, butter my parsnips. How royally good to see you." The round man laughed, gesturing for the once mentor to sit beside him. Fagin took the seat. Slowly filling his pockets with the food.

"I'm almost proud of you, my dear. You connived this right from the start, didn't you?" He said. Fagin had managed to work out that Oliver was working with the recently released Darius.

" Isn't it scrumptious?" The younger man grinned taking a bite of cake.

"You know, I always thought you was a whiny, mealy, flowerpot of a kid with nothing in your head but snot, but I have underestimated you." Fagin spat out. Oliver's smile faltered for just a moment. Before he plastered his mask back into place.

"I think back on my time with you and the Dodge with such fondness, that I do really see this as a tribute. You awakened something dark and glorious in me, Fagin. My passion, my genius for crime." He chuckled. Fagin nodded slowly.

"A good master will do that for his apprentice. You see, the only dung beetle in the butter is that Captain Gaines is itching to scrag someone for all this purloinary, and I just as soon it not be me. So, I might be pushed and I never want to, I assure you, but I might just be pushed to drop a little word about all your perfidious escapades." Fagin leant forward as he spoke.

Oliver smiled mischievously taking a sip of the tea in front of him.

"We're not playing by Clerkenwell rules anymore. Before I left London, I found these lovely memories." He clears his throat and takes a stack of papers from his vest, "The Crown v. Jack Dawkins. Fifteen years for theft. Prisoner escape report for Jack Dawkins. Death warrant for Jack Dawkins." He ticks them away and narrows his sight on the older man, "So, if you'd like to whisper about me to Gaines, then, well, I'd have to pass these memories on. As you say, 'Always look out for number one.'" he chuckles.

"It's a goodly motto. One I hold to." Fagin stands, "though, I suspect it'll see you in Beelzebub's clutches come the end of things. God rot you, Oliver Twist. I hope the Devil chews your bones." His scowled.

" Oh, no, Fagin. God wouldn't do that to an Eton man." Oliver laughed heartedly as the older man walked away.

"What do we do, Fagin?" Flashbang asks.

"Any sign of Monks?"

"None, he's vanished. I figured he got on that boat." Flashbang explained and Fagin groaned.

"We have to do something or old Jacky boy is going to swing."

"could always just shoot them." Red repeats the words she had said the day before with a smile on her face. Fagin met her eyes and ideas formed in his mind.

"get the gang together, I have a plan."

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @mydeputyghostwagon

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dansnaturepictures · 11 months ago

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04/08/24-Sunflower in the garden good to see one out a strong symbol of summer, a resplendent Silver-spotted Skipper at Perham Down among my first of the year today an excellent few minutes watching them fizz around the meadow and still, views at Shipton Bellinger and St. John's-wort and wayfaring tree berries at Perham Down.

I also enjoyed seeing beautiful Bullfinches at both locations, Rooks, Buzzard, Magpie, lots of Meadow Browns, Gatekeeper, Common Blue, Peacock, Red Admiral, Large White, Brimstone, creeping cinquefoil, rosebay willowherb, wild parsnip, eyebright, woolly thistle and exciting views of my first ever Tawny Longhorn beetle and Purple Bar moth.

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viitlumi--archived · 11 months ago

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❝ flowers are so overrated. they're bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons. ❞ // to whomever wants to come forth c: //

The meadow bloomed as if each petal was a bright memory. The bees flocked to the wildflowers that nature had planted for them. They buzzed around the chorus of blossoms, the accord of the wild in these sun-filled moments. Summer was most definitely a nourishing season on Paradis.

In the golden hush of dawn, where the sky blushed with the first whispers of daylight, Solveig and Hilda found themselves amidst a sea of blossoms. The field stretched endlessly, a vibrant tapestry woven with fragrant flowers and herbs, each petal and leaf glistening with morning dew. The sisters, bound by blood and tradition, moved with a quiet ease, their bond evident in the synchronized rhythm of their work, their sickles—crafted for the impending autumn harvest—gleaming like silver crescents against the soft light. Beside them, Lyanna—a newfound companion whose acquaintance was as fresh as the morning. Though they scarcely knew her, Solveig had felt an intrinsic pull, a whisper from the heart urging her to embrace this stranger and the shared experience of womanhood. Together, the three females gathered nature's treasures, each cut and snip a testament to their unity and strength. It was in this shared labor, beneath the ever-brightening sky, that they wove bonds as delicate yet enduring as the flowers they collected, finding kinship and beauty in the simple act of harvesting life from the earth. Lyanna, the young woman they had recently met, paused and looked around. With a wry smile, she remarked, “Flowers are so overrated. They’re bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons.” She didn't appear too enthused to be in this environment, leaving Solveig with a bewildered frown on her pale features. Solveig, her hands gently placing a vibrant flower into her basket, turned to Lyanna with a thoughtful scowl. “Even the prettiest flower shouldn’t be mistaken only for its beauty,” she began, her voice soft but firm. “A flower can be so beautiful, but it can also harbor many dangers.”

She picked a foxglove from her basket, its purple bells hanging delicately from the stem like tiny, enchanted lanterns. “Take foxglove, for instance. In small doses, it can be used to treat heart conditions, mending broken rhythms with its potent touch. But too much, and it becomes a deadly poison, almost instant death. Yet, even this poisonous flower is essential for medicine when respected and understood.”

Moving through the field, advicing Lyanna to follow her, she knelt by another plant, its dark berries gleaming ominously in the morning light. “This is belladonna,” she continued, “used in tiny amounts to relieve muscle spasms, to soothe and heal. My people even use it to widen their pupils by injecting the juiced directly into their eyes, as it helps them to see better while hunting in the night. But its berries can be fatal to those who consume them.” Solveig met her blue gaze towards Lyanna again, her eyes meeting hers, imparting the gravity of her words. “Some plants can be easily confused, like wild parsnip and hemlock, each a doppelgänger to the other, one life-giving, the other life-taking. And the typical bitter taste of a plant can be easily masked, cloaked in honeyed deceit, making them even more dangerous. Remember, the dose makes the poison.”

As the three women continued their gathering, the field became more than a simple meadow. It was a place of learning and connection, a classroom of the earth where each flower told a story, whispered secrets, and taught lessons of balance and respect. “What you have to get out of the habit of thinking is not to discount the lethality of beauty. It's the way with plants, just like with people. What would be the fun in desiring it instantaneously and without delay?” Solveig chuckled somewhat wryly towards Lyanna before she resumed her work. Each bloom was a dual symbol of life and death, of beauty and peril, a reminder of nature’s intricate dance and the essential role of even the most dangerous flowers in healing and medicine.

#;anwered #mercurialstorm #;solveig in love's embrace i traverse fire and ice #attack on titan rp #shingeki no kyojin #((YOOOO thanks for sending in the ask!#I hope the reply is okay with you ♥ ))

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white---raven-2 · 2 years ago

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Right so, head straight on through here and open the gate, be sure to close it after you. Then there'll be 2 lefts in exactly the same place, make sure you take the one on the right. Then there'll be a field of parsnips, not the Carlow parsnips now, the west parsnips. Now you'll recognise them because they have an elongated root and a slightly bitter taste. Then you'll come to the gap in the road. Make sure you build up a lot of speed before you hit the gap in the road. Then there'll be a fella standing there with a spade in his hand. Now if he's got a smile on his face then turn left. If he's got a slightly disconcerted look on his face then it's a right. Either way you'll end up on the windy road, it's a left and another right. Then head down the winding path until you encounter the three-legged scarecrow wearing a red hat. Pass the scarecrow, but remember to politely wave before you do so. Now you'd reach the crossroad guarded by that guy with a spade from before who'll ask you a few riddles. Answer all of his riddles incorrectly, and he'll let you pass straight ahead. Then walk straight until you see a fork in the road. Then wander through a nearby meadow until you see a blue butterfly. Follow its erratic flight pattern for about 27 seconds, then turn around to face a small pond. There you'll encounter three mirrors reflecting your image differently. Choose the mirror that shows you wearing a top hat, and step through it. Ascend the staircase, counting each step out loud in reverse order. When you reach step zero, take a leap of faith into the void. Once you leave the feline dimension, you'll find yourself in a labyrinth with an invisible maze. To navigate, listen for the sound of distant digging and follow it blindly. Emerge from the labyrinth and spot a group of fireflies forming a shape in the night sky. Connect the dots between their glows to reveal a constellation pointing to your next destination. When you see the big yellow sign with a red arrow pointing left, ignore it completely and go straight ahead. Pass the big red sign with a yellow arrow pointing right, but don't turn right either. Proceed until you find 2 small right paths on your left. Take the middle one until you see a fork in the road. Then flip a coin to decide which path to take. Then, at the big oak tree, make sure to turn right at the intersection. However, if the tree has fallen, make a U-turn instead. If you see a flock of geese crossing the road, stop and wait for them to pass, and then make a left turn regardless of where you are. Follow the winding road, and when you reach a fork in the road, choose the path less traveled. If both paths look equally traveled, close your eyes and randomly pick one. When you encounter the traffic light, turn right if it's green, turn left if it's red, and do a U-turn if it's yellow. Continue walking straight until you find a fork in the road. Take the left path, then immediately backtrack and take the right path instead. Proceed forward until you spot a floating sign that points both up and down simultaneously. Choose an arbitrary direction and follow it until you reach a fork in the road. There, you'll encounter a mysterious fog with ghostly figures within the fog, follow them, and they'll lead you. Ignore any "Dead End" signs you come across; they are merely suggestions. By now they should've lead you to a cowboy standing in the middle of a roundabout. If he's whistling take the first exit, if not take the 3rd exist from the back. Then you'll come to a second set of trees with a stone beside it and after that you'll be in the sea. Now you'll know it's the sea, because it'll be slightly wetter than the land. After that you're on your own.

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violettesiren · 2 months ago

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Lust leaks from the inner rings of our bodies: tree-trunks scarred with age. We say we’re tired,

but our lust surges above oceans, loosens clouds and frees the sky. It unchains hurricanes

and brings saw-toothed parsnips into being. Our love breeds stinging nettles that flank the woods.

No one guesses it hums within our skin. When I was young, did I river next to fields,

feeling this much rapture? Did I break open with more happiness, hiking along coastal meadows

or striding on city streets? Sometimes, I want to tell you, I’m afraid of joy. Sometimes, I believe I’m worthy

only of grief. Even when dogwoods blossom, I—a fool—cling to the faith I have only in my grief.

Sonnet from Alef to Bet (2) by Yerra Sugarman

#yerra sugarman

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bike42 · 11 months ago

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Sunday July 21. Siskiwit Bay 10.2 miles according to the map

Apple Watch: 11.6 mi, total time 7:26, average pace 38’, elevation gain 806 ft!

We awoke again this morning to the sound of birds singing and a loon on the lake. Being this far west on EST, first light was 6am. It was chilly overnight, perfect for sleeping nestled in a down sleeping bag.

I dressed, got out of the tent, and headed down to the lake. Although just a few feet away, it was about 10 degrees warmer at the lake! The sun had just risen, casting a beautiful glow over the lake. I returned to the tent to get the rain fly as it was moist on the inside caused by the condensation from our breath.

We set about making breakfast - quite a production with fry bread going in two pans, then scrambled eggs and ham. By the time we ate, cleaned up and packed up, it was 9am as we were taking our morning selfie.

It was a beautiful morning, but we knew it’d be wet pushing through the thick brush so I left camp in my long pants and added my tall gaiters just to be sure. The gang walked nearly a mile before stopping for the first “costume change,” mostly pealing off layers. I was hot, and I unzipped my pants and tucked the legs inside my gaiters. At the next stop - nearly 3 miles, I removed the legs and the gaiters. That stop was at a beautiful waterfall, and since it was hot, we filled a couple Nalgenes out of the falls and treated them with the Steripen - fingers crossed that was good enough!

We started with a couple of miles of overgrown brush, then the trail opened up as we climbed to Feldtman Ridge. The climb afforded us gorgeous views of Feldtman and the mainland beyond that.

We encountered two hikers from Tennessee, doing our route backwards. They gave us some advice to walk the first mile tomorrow along the beach, and also passed on what we’ll hike on Tuesday is more of what they called the “Green Wall.”

We got to Feldtman Tower - the top was closed, but we were able to climb high enough to have an amazing 360 degree view of Lake Superior, Feldtman Lake, probably Canada, Minnesota’s North Shore, and probably Wisconsin! The gorgeous day afforded an outstanding view.

We hiked another couple miles and stopped for lunch on a large slab of granite. Tam laid out her poncho and we had peanut butter and honey on pita, fresh Granny Smith apples, and chocolate covered almonds. After eating, most of us laid on the tarp - could have stayed there an hour - nice breeze, no bugs!

We figured we had three more miles to go, but just like we found last year at Glacier, the mileage on National Park trails isn’t correlated to GPS! I followed close to Gary and tried to hang with him and be done with the hike! We went down from the ridge and back into tons of mosquitoes and stopped to spray down again. We went through areas with birches and large ferns, then back through sunny areas with thimbleberry bushes and cow parsnips occluding the trail. We pushed through it at a rapid pace - you couldn’t see the trail, but you felt it when you stepped off it. The bugs were terrible. When I ate my third mosquito I put on my head net. The buzzing was still driving me crazy, but at least they weren’t trying to get inside my glasses and bite my eyes!

We hit 10.2 miles, should have been the end according to the park map, but Dan was tracking us with the “All Trails” app and it showed we still had some ways to go. We plodded on. The trail brought us through some pretty meadows with fantastic wild flowers, the trail was still quite narrow, but at least it wasn’t shoulder-high foliage!

Finally we arrived at Siskiwit Bay - a mile further than we expected. We found the camp to be deserted, and the paths also overgrown and not really maintained. Being a group of 7, we were supposed to camp in the group sites, but the group sites were far from the water. Instead, we opted for site #5, which had a shelter and was closest to the water. It was 6pm and we didn’t think a ranger was going to come and bust us.

Jeff and I set up our tent, while the others set up to sleep in the shelter. Kent set up his water filtration process while some of us jumped in the lake - about as cold as jumping in the North Sea last fall, but it felt good today! I jumped in with my clothes on to wash them too.

We set out to make dinner but have a mystery about what happened to it!? After searching all the packs, we gave up! Did we not bring it? Did we accidentally throw it out Saturday morning? Is it stuck in someone’s pack? Will this remain an unsolved mystery!?

We had extra breakfast stuff, so we made three batches of eggs, and Blueberry Wild Rice pancakes, with chocolate for dessert - that filled our tummies and all is well.

A quiet night, with the lake almost eerily calm! It’s cooling off nicely, will be another good nights sleep!!

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whileiamdying · 1 year ago

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Song of Myself (1892 version)

BY WALT WHITMAN

[…]

Space and Time! now I see it is true, what I guess’d at, What I guess’d when I loaf’d on the grass, What I guess’d while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walk’d the beach under the paling stars of the morning.

My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision.

By the city’s quadrangular houses—in log huts, camping with lumbermen, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hoeing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase, Scorch’d ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the shallow river, Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the buck turns furiously at the hunter, Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the otter is feeding on fish, Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou, Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tail; Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower’d cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field, Over the sharp-peak’d farm house, with its scallop’d scum and slender shoots from the gutters, Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav’d corn, over the delicate blue-flower flax, Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with the rest, Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze; Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low scragged limbs, Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush, Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot, Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great gold-bug drops through the dark, Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to the meadow, Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shuddering of their hides, Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters;

Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders, Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs, Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it myself and looking composedly down,) Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand, Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it, Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke, Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water, Where the half-burn’d brig is riding on unknown currents, Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below; Where the dense-starr’d flag is borne at the head of the regiments, Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island, Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance, Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside, Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of base-ball, At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter, At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw, At apple-peelings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find, At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings; Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps, Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are scatter’d, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel, Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen, Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks, Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie,

Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles far and near, Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived swan is curving and winding, Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her near-human laugh, Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the high weeds, Where band-neck’d partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out, Where burial coaches enter the arch’d gates of a cemetery, Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees, Where the yellow-crown’d heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs, Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon, Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over the well, Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves, Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs, Through the gymnasium, through the curtain’d saloon, through the office or public hall; Pleas’d with the native and pleas’d with the foreign, pleas’d with the new and old,

Pleas’d with the homely woman as well as the handsome, Pleas’d with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously, Pleas’d with the tune of the choir of the whitewash’d church, Pleas’d with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, impress’d seriously at the camp-meeting; Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon, flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass, Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn’d up to the clouds, or down a lane or along the beach, My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle; Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek’d bush-boy, (behind me he rides at the drape of the day,) Far from the settlements studying the print of animals’ feet, or the moccasin print,

By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient, Nigh the coffin’d corpse when all is still, examining with a candle; Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure, Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any, Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him, Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while, Walking the old hills of Judæa with the beautiful gentle God by my side, Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars, Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the diameter of eighty thousand miles, Speeding with tail’d meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest, Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly, Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing,

I tread day and night such roads.

I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen’d and look at quintillions green.

I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets.

I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me.

I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me.

I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crow’s-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin’d city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe.

I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridegroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.

My voice is the wife’s voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man’s body up dripping and drown’d.

I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times, How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steam-ship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights, And chalk’d in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you; How he follow’d with them and tack’d with them three days and would not give it up, How he saved the drifting company at last, How the lank loose-gown’d women look’d when boated from the side of their prepared graves, How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lipp’d unshaved men; All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, I am the man, I suffer’d, I was there.

The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn’d for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover’d with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am.

I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn’d with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks.

Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.

I am the mash’d fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have clear’d the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.

I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.

Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort’s bombardment,

I am there again.

Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.

I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim’d shots, The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air.

Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me—mind—the entrenchments.

#walt whitman #song of myself

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