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Rh  I do not know it—it is without name—it is a word
 * unsaid,

It is not in any dictionary, utterance, 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, union, plan—it
 * is eternal life — it is.

The past and present wilt—I have filled them, emptied
 * them,

And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! Here you! What have you to
 * confide to me?

Look in my face, while I snuff the sidle of evening, Talk honestly—no one else hears you, and I stay
 * only a minute longer.

Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself, I am large—I contain multitudes.

I concentrate toward them that are nigh—I wait on
 * the door-slab.

Who has done his day's work? Who will soonest be
 * through with his supper?

Who wishes to walk with me?