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If our colors are struck and the fighting done?
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Will you speak before I am gone?It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then spela gratis online spel för att tjäna pengar på youtube drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old.I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!) My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no man.This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and.There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much?For I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.Fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child?
O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days!
His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.
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