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Leaves of Grass (1891-92)
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MY CANARY BIRD.
Did we count great, O soul, to penetrate the themes of mighty
books,
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| Absorbing deep and full from thoughts, plays, speculations? |
| But now from thee to me, caged bird, to feel thy joyous warble, |
| Filling the air, the lonesome room, the long forenoon, |
| Is it not just as great, O soul? |
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