°ò¤B(Keating)¾é¸Ñ¦«¼wªº®£Äß¡A¨Ã¥ýn¨D¦«¼w¡uyawp¡v¡C¡uYawp¡v·N«ä¬O¤jÁn¥s³Û¡A¥X¦Û ¡§Song of Myself (Section 52)¡¨, By Walt Whitmans¡G
¡§The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains
of my gab and my loitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow's wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.¡¨
"I close my eyes and this image floats beside me The sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brains His hands reach out and choke me And all the time he¡¦s mumbling Truth, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push it, stretch it, it will never be enough Kick it beat it, it will never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying, to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream."