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13—Poem of Procreation.

A WOMAN waits for me—she contains all,          nothing is lacking,

Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if          the moisture of the right man were lacking.

Sex contains all,

Bodies, souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delica-          cies, results, promulgations,

Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal          mystery, the semitic milk,

All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,

All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the          earth,

All the governments, judges, gods, followed per-          sons of the earth,

These are contained in sex, as parts of itself          and justifications of itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows          the deliciousness of his sex,

Without shame the woman I like knows and          avows hers.

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O I will fetch bully breeds of children yet!

They cannot be fetched, I say, on less terms than          mine,

Electric growth from the male, and rich ripe fibre          from the female, are the terms.

I will dismiss myself from impassive women,

I will go stay with her who waits for me, and          with those women that are warm-blooded and          sufficient for me,

I see that they understand me, and do not deny          me,

I see that they are worthy of me—so I will be          the robust husband of those women!

They are not one jot less than I am,

They are tanned in the face by shining suns and          blowing winds,

Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and          strength,

They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle,          shoot, run, strike, retreat, advance, resist,          defend themselves,

They are ultimate in their own right—they are          calm, clear, well-possessed of themselves.

I draw you close to me, you women!

I cannot let you go, I would do you good,

I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our          own sake, but for others' sakes,

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Enveloped in you sleep greater heroes and bards,

They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but          me.

It is I, you women—I make my way,

I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable—but I          love you,

I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for          you,

I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for          These States—I press with slow rude muscle,

I brace myself effectually—I listen to no en-          treaties,

I dare not withdraw till I deposite what has so          long accumulated within me.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,

In you I wrap a thousand onward years,

On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of          me and of America,

The drops I distil upon you are drops of fierce          and athletic girls, and of new artists, musi-          cians, singers,

The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in          their turn,

I shall demand perfect men and women out of my          love-spendings,

I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others,          as I and you interpenetrate now,

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I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers          of them, as I count on the fruits of the gush-          ing showers I give now,

I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life,          death, immortality I plant so lovingly now.

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