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298 For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years,
 * without one animal or plant,

For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily rolled.

In this head the all-baffling brain, In it and below it, the making of the attributes of
 * heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white—they are
 * so cunning in tendon and nerve,

They shall be stript, that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition, Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant back-bone and neck,
 * flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs,

And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood, The same old blood! The same red-running blood! There swells and jets a heart—there all passions,
 * desires, reachings, aspirations,

Do you think they are not there because they are not
 * expressed in parlors and lecture-rooms?

This is not only one man—this is the father of those
 * who shall be fathers in their turns,

In him the start of populous states and rich republics, Of him countless immortal lives, with countless embodiments
 * and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring
 * of his offspring through the centuries?