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Rh (See! from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last! See—the prismatic colors, glistening and rolling!) Tufts of straw, sands, fragments, Buoyed hither from many moods, one contradicting
 * another,

From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the
 * swell,

Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of
 * liquid or soil,

Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented
 * and thrown,

A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves
 * floating, drifted at random,

Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature, Just as much, whence we come, that blare of the
 * cloud-trumpets;

We, capricious, brought hither, we know not whence,
 * spread out before You, up there, walking or
 * sitting,

Whoever you are—we too lie in drifts at your feet.



are the myths—I too delight in them, Great are Adam and Eve—I too look back and
 * accept them,

Great the risen and fallen nations, and their poets,
 * women, sages, inventors, rulers, warriors, and
 * priests.