Tell me, my patient friends, awaiters of messages.From what other shore, from...

Tell me, my patient friends, awaiters of messages.
From what other shore, from what stranger,
Whence, was the word to come? Who was to lesson you?
Listeners under a child's crib in a manger,
Listeners once by the oracles, now by the transoms,
Whom are you waiting for? Who do you think will explain?
Listeners thousands of years and still no answer-
Writers at night to Miss Lonely-Hearts, awkward spellers,
Open your eyes! There is only earth and the man!
There is only you. There is no one else on the telephone:
No one else is on the air to whisper:
No one else but you will push the bell.
No one knows if you don't: neither ships
Nor landing-fields decode the dark between.
You have your eyes and what your eyes see, is.
The earth you see is really the earth you are seeing.
The sun is truly excellent, truly warm,
Women are beautiful as you have seen them-
Their breasts {believe it} like cooing of doves in a portico.
They bear at their breasts tenderness softly. Look at them!
Look at yourselves. You are strong. You are well formed.
Look at the world-the world you never took!
It is really true you may live in the world heedlessly.
Why do you wait to read it in a book then?
Write it yourselves! Write to yourselves if you need to!
Tell yourselves there is sun and the sun will rise.
Tell yourselves the earth has food to feed you.
Let the dead men say that men must die!
Who better than you can know what death is?
How can a bone or a broken body surmise it?
Let the dead shriek with their whispering breath.
Laugh at them! Say the murdered gods may wake
But we who work have end of work together.
Tell yourselves the earth is yours to take!
Waiting for messages out of the dark you were poor.
The world was always yours: you would not take it."