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thought of fruitage, Of Death, (the life greater)—of seeds dropping into
 * the ground—of birth,

Of the steady concentration of America, inland,
 * upward, to impregnable and swarming places,

Of what Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio and the rest, are
 * to be,

Of what a few years will show there in Missouri,
 * Kansas, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota and the
 * rest,

Of what the feuillage of America is the preparation
 * for—and of what all the sights, North, South,
 * East and West, are;

Of the temporary use of materials for identity's
 * sake,

Of departing—of the growth of a mightier race
 * than any yet,

Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my songs by
 * these shores,

Of California—of Oregon—and of me journeying
 * hence to live and sing there;

Of the Western Sea—of the spread inland between
 * it and the spinal river,

Of the great pastoral area, athletic and feminine, Of all sloping down there where the fresh free-giver,
 * the mother, the Mississippi flows—and
 * Westward still;