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21-Jun-2019 05:07

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.What do you think has become of the young and old men?And what do you think has become of the women and children?Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand.O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.