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Rh Pleased with the tunes of the choir of the white-
 * washed church,

Pleased with the earnest words of the sweating
 * Methodist preacher, or any preacher—Impressed
 * seriously at the camp-meeting,

Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the
 * whole forenoon—flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate-glass,

Wandering the same afternoon with my face
 * turned up to the clouds,

My right and left arms round the sides of two
 * friends, and I in the middle;

Coming home with the silent and dark-cheeked
 * bush-boy—riding behind him at the drape of
 * the day,

Far from the settlements, studying the print of animals'
 * feet, or the moccason print,

By the cot in the hospital, reaching lemonade to a
 * feverish patient,

By the coffined corpse when all is still, examining
 * with a candle,

Voyaging to every port, to dicker and adventure, Hurrying with the modern crowd, as eager and fickle
 * as any,

Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife
 * him,

Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts
 * gone from me a long while,

Walking the old hills of Judea, with the beautiful gentle God by my side, Speeding through space—speeding through heaven
 * and the stars,