...From the memories of the bird that chanted me,
From your memories, sad brother---
from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half moon,
late risen, and swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of sickness and love,
There in that transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart,
Never to cease,
From the myriad thence aroused words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Born hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man yet, by these tears a little boy again,...
Walt Whitman-Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
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