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he that aches with love; Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching,
 * attract all matter?

So the body of me to all I meet, or that I know.



in the morning, Walking forth from the bower, refreshed with sleep, Behold me where I pass—hear my voice—approach, Touch me—touch the palm of your hand to my
 * body as I pass,

Be not afraid of my body.