Not Heaving From My Ribb'd Breast Only

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