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365 But I wondered how it could utter joyous leaves,
 * standing alone there, without its friend, its
 * lover near—for I knew I could not,

And I broke off a twig with a certain number of
 * leaves upon it, and twined around it a little
 * moss,

And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight
 * in my room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear
 * friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of
 * them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me
 * think of manly love;

For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in
 * Louisiana, solitary, in a wide flat space,

Uttering joyous leaves all its life, without a friend, a
 * lover, near,

I know very well I could not.



always round me, unceasing, unbeginning—
 * yet long untaught I did not hear,

But now the chorus I hear, and am elated, A tenor, strong, ascending, with power and health,
 * with glad notes of day-break I hear,

A soprano, at intervals, sailing buoyantly over the
 * tops of immense waves,

A transparent base, shuddering lusciously under and
 * through the universe,