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paths untrodden, In the growth by margins of pond-waters, Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, From all the standards hitherto published—from
 * the pleasures, profits, conformities.

Which too long I was offering to feed to my Soul; Clear to me now, standards not yet published—
 * clear to me that my Soul,

That the Soul of the man I speak for, feeds, rejoices
 * only in comrades;

Here, by myself, away from the clank of the world, Tallying and talked to here by tongues aromatic, No longer abashed—for in this secluded spot I can
 * respond as I would not dare elsewhere,

Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself,
 * yet contains all the rest,

Resolved to sing no songs to-day but those of manly
 * attachment,

Projecting them along that substantial life, Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love, Rh