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Song of Myself |
 | | I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again. |
 | | Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. |
 | | Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain, For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night. |
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