Who is readings captain

Englishman Lee Westwood, who tied Nick Faldo by playing in his 11 th Ryder Cup, already has raised his hand for the job of replacing Padraig Harrington. But father time is not kind. I grew up playing the game of golf. After plus years, I switched from steel iron shafts to graphite.

O Captain! It's never too early to discuss. O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. This arm beneath your head! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

O how can it be that the ground itself does not sicken? How can you be alive you growths of spring? How can you furnish health you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain? Are they not continually putting distemper'd corpses within you? Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour dead? Where have you disposed of their carcasses? Those drunkards and gluttons of so many generations? Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat?

I do not see any of it upon you to-day, or perhaps I am deceiv'd, I will run a furrow with my plough, I will press my spade through the sod and turn it up underneath, I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat. Perhaps every mite has once form'd part of a sick person—yet behold! The grass of spring covers the prairies, The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden, The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward, The apple-buds cluster together on the apple-branches, The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its graves, The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree, The he-birds carol mornings and evenings while the she-birds sit on their nests, The young of poultry break through the hatch'd eggs, The new-born of animals appear, the calf is dropt from the cow, the colt from the mare, Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato's dark green leaves, Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk, the lilacs bloom in the dooryards, The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata of sour dead.

What chemistry! That the winds are really not infectious, That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea which is so amorous after me, That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its tongues, That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited themselves in it, That all is clean forever and forever, That the cool drink from the well tastes so good, That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy, That the fruits of the apple-orchard and the orange-orchard, that melons, grapes, peaches, plums, will none of them poison me, That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any disease, Though probably every spear of grass rises out of what was once a catching disease.

Now I am terrified at the Earth, it is that calm and patient, It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions, It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless successions of diseas'd corpses, It distills such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor, It renews with such unwitting looks its prodigal, annual, sumptuous crops, It gives such divine materials to men, and accepts such leavings from them at last.

OF the visages of things—And of piercing through to the accepted hells beneath; Of ugliness—To me there is just as much in it as there is in beauty—And now the ugliness of human beings is acceptable to me; Of detected persons—To me, detected persons are not, in any respect, worse than undetected per- sons—and are not in any respect worse than I am myself; Of criminals—To me, any judge, or any juror, is equally criminal—and any reputable person is also—and the President is also.

OF waters, forests, hills; Of the earth at large, whispering through medium of me; Of vista—Suppose some sight in arriere, through the formative chaos, presuming the growth, fulness, life, now attain'd on the journey; But I see the road continued, and the journey ever continued; Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time has become supplied—And of what will yet be supplied, Because all I see and know, I believe to have purport in what will yet be supplied.

OF persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies, wealth, scholarships, and the like; To me, all that those persons have arrived at, sinks away from them, except as it results to their Bodies and Souls, So that often to me they appear gaunt and naked; And often, to me, each one mocks the others, and mocks himself or herself, And of each one, the core of life, namely happiness, is full of the rotten excrement of maggots, And often, to me, those men and women pass unwit- tingly the true realities of life, and go toward false realities, And often, to me, they are alive after what custom has served them, but nothing more, And often, to me, they are sad, hasty, unwaked son- nambules, walking the dusk.

OF ownership—As if one fit to own things could not at pleasure enter upon all, and incorporate them into himself or herself; Of Equality—As if it harm'd me, giving others the same chances and rights as myself—As if it were not indispensable to my own rights that others possess the same; Of Justice—As if Justice could be anything but the same ample law, expounded by natural judges and saviors, As if it might be this thing or that thing, according to decisions.

As I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing, To my mind, whence it comes I know not, spectral, in mist, of a wreck at sea, Of the flower of the marine science of fifty generations, founder'd off the Northeast coast, and going down—Of the steamship Arctic going down, Of the veil'd tableau—Women gather'd together on deck, pale, heroic, waiting the moment that draws so close—O the moment!

O the huge sob—A few bubbles—the white foam spirting up—And then the women gone, Sinking there, while the passionless wet flows on— And I now pondering, Are those women indeed gone? Are Souls drown'd and destroy'd so? Is only matter triumphant? OF obedience, faith, adhesiveness; As I stand aloof and look, there is to me something profoundly affecting in large masses of men, following the lead of those who do not believe in men.

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