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 AS they draw to a close, 
Of what underlies the precedent songs—of my aims in them; 
Of the seed I have sought to plant in them; 
Of joy, sweet joy, through many a year, in them; 
(For them—for them have I lived—In them my work is done;)
Of many an aspiration fond—of many a dream and plan, 
Of you, O mystery great!—to place on record faith in you, O death! 
—To compact you, ye parted, diverse lives! 
To put rapport the mountains, and rocks, and streams, 
And the winds of the north, and the forests of oak and pine,
With you, O soul of man.

by Walt Whitman
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