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Old age superbly rising!
Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable.
And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know.You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries, On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms, The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut.Look to your arms!The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.Have you outstript the rest?
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
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My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.