long it holds at the high, ,
all throbs, dilates—the farms, —steamers' pennants
of smoke—and under the forenoon sun,
freighted aily the outaily the
in from many a spar the flag i love.
by that long scan of scan of light or shade—some retrospect,
joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas—scenes ephemeral,
the long past hts, the h every by?gone phase—my idle youth—old age at hand,
my three?score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past,
by any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the ,
and haply yet some drop ht from these shores, this hill,
of you o tides, the mystic human meaning:
only by la me the same,
the brain that shapes, the voice that chants this song.
as one by one reat play on history's stage eterne,
that lurid, partial act of ,
fought out through suspense;
all past—and since, in countless graves receding, mello,
victor's and vanquish'd—lincoln's and lee's—nohty days—and equal to the days!
thou from the prairies!—tangled and many?vein'd and hard has been thy part,
to admiration has it been enacted!
ah, not this marble, dead and cold:
far from its base and shaft expanding—the round zones circling,
comprehending,
thou, ton, art all the erica,
europe's as well, in every part, castle of lord or laborer's cot,
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