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Rh Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the river
 * —swinging and chirping over my head,

Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled
 * under-brush,

Or while I swim in the bath, or drink from the pump
 * at the corner—or the curtain is down at the
 * opera, or I glimpse at a woman's face in the
 * railroad car,

Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and
 * giving them to be mine.

Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace
 * of dying days!

Every condition promulges not only itself—it promulges
 * what grows after and out of itself,

And the dark hush promulges as much as any.

I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled
 * systems,

And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge
 * but the rim of the farther systems.

Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always
 * expanding,

Outward, outward, and forever outward.

My sun has his sun, and round him obediently
 * wheels,

He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest
 * inside them.