The love of the body of man or woman
   balks account, the body itself balks,
   account,
 That of the male is perfect, and that of
   the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account,
 But the expression of a well-made man
   appears not only in his face,
 It is in his limbs and joints also, it is
   curiously in the joints of his hips and
   wrists,
 It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the
   flex of his waist and knees, dress does not
   hide him,
 The strong sweet quality he has strikes
   through the cotton and broadcloth,
 To see him pass conveys as much as the best
   poem, perhaps more,
 You linger to see his back, and the back of
   his neck and shoulder-side. 

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms
   and heads of women, the folds of their
   dress, their style as we pass in the street,
   the contour of their shape downwards,
 The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath,
   seen as he swims through the transparent
   green-shine, or lies with his face up and
   rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the
   water,
 The bending forward and backward of 
   rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his
   saddle,
 Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their
   performances,
 The group of laborers seated at noon-time
   with their open dinner-kettles, and their
   wives waiting,
 The female soothing a child, the farmer's 
   daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
 The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-
   driver driving his six horses through the
   crowd,
 The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-
   boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured,
   native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-
   down after work,
 The coats and caps thrown down, the 
   embrace of love and resistance,
 The upper-hold and the under-hold, the hair
   rumpled over and blinding their eyes;
 The march of firemen in their own
   costumes, the play of masculine muscle
   through clean-setting trowsers and waist-
   straps,
 The slow return from the fire, the pause
   when the bell strikes suddenly again, and
   the listening on the alert,
 The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the 
   bent head, the curv'd neck and the 
   counting;
 Such-like I love -- I loosen myself, pass
   freely, am at the mother's breast with the
   little child,
 Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with
   wrestlers, march in line with the firemen,
   and pause, listen, count.