There is that in me . . . . I do not know what it is . . . . but I know it is in me. Wrenched and sweaty . . . . calm and cool then my body becomes; I sleep . . . . I sleep long. I do not know it . . . . it is without name . . . . it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary or utterance or symbol. Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me. Perhaps I might tell more . . . . Outlines! I plead for my brothers and sisters. Do you see O my brothers and sisters? It is not chaos or death . . . . it is form and
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