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Rh It is dark here under ground—it is not evil or pain
 * here—it is blank here, for reasons.

It seems to me that everything in the light and air
 * ought to be happy,

Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let
 * him know he has enough.

I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked
 * through the eddies of the sea,

His brown hair lies close and even to his head—
 * he strikes out with courageous arms—he urges
 * himself with his legs,

I see his white body—I see his undaunted eyes, I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him
 * head-foremost on the rocks.

What are you doing, you ruffianly red-trickled waves? Will you kill the courageous giant? Will you kill
 * him in the prime of his middle age?

Steady and long he struggles, He is baffled, banged, bruised—he holds out while
 * his strength holds out.

The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood—
 * they bear him away—they roll him, swing him,
 * turn him.

His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies,
 * it is continually bruised on rocks.

Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse.

I turn, but do not extricate myself. Confused, a past-reading, another, but with darkness
 * yet.