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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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A HAND-MIRROR.
HOLD it up sternly—see this it sends back, (who is it? is it
you?)
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Outside fair costume, within ashes and filth, |
No more a flashing eye, no more a sonorous voice or springy
step,
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Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step, |
A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face, venerealee's flesh, |
Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous, |
Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination, |
Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams, |
Words babble, hearing and touch callous, |
No brain, no heart left, no magnetism of sex; |
Such from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence, |
Such a result so soon—and from such a beginning! |
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