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360 They are comprised in you just as much as in themselves
 * —perhaps more than in themselves,

They are not comprised in one season or succession,
 * but many successions,

They have come slowly up out of the earth and me, and are to come slowly up out of you.



heat flames up and consumes, Not sea-waves hurry in and out, Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe
 * summer, bears lightly along white down-balls of
 * myriads of seeds, wafted, sailing gracefully, to
 * drop where they may.

Not these—O none of these, more than the flames
 * of me, consuming, burning for his love whom I
 * love!

O none, more than I, hurrying in and out; Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never
 * give up? O I the same;

O nor down-balls, nor perfumes, nor the high
 * rain-emitting clouds, are borne through the open
 * air,

Any more than my Soul is borne through the open
 * air.

Wafted in all directions, O love, for friendship, for
 * you.