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( To Confront a Portrait. )

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OUT from behind this bending rough-cut mask,

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These lights and shades, this drama of the whole,

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This common curtain of the face containd in me for me, in you for you, in each for each,

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(Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tears—O heaven!

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The passionate teeming plays this curtain hid!)

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This glaze of Gods serenest purest sky,

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This film of Satans seething pit,

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This hearts geographys map, this limitless small continent, this soundless sea;

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Out from the convolutions of this globe,

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This subtler astronomic orb than sun or moon, than Jupiter, Venus, Mars,

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This condensation of the universe, (nay here the only universe,

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Here the idea, all in this mystic handful wrapt;)

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These burind eyes, flashing to you to pass to future time,

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To launch and spin through space revolving sideling, from these to emanate,

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To you whoeer you are—a look.

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A traveler of thoughts and years, of peace and war,

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Of youth long sped and middle age declining,

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(As the first volume of a tale perused and laid away, and this the second,

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Songs, ventures, speculations, presently to close,)

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Lingering a moment here and now, to you I opposite turn,

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As on the road or at some crevice door by chance, or opend window,

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Pausing, inclining, baring my head, you specially I greet,

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To draw and clinch your soul for once inseparably with mine,

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Then travel travel on.