Shut Not Your Doors by Walt Whitman
Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd
shelves, yet needed most, I bring.
Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,
The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every
thing.
A book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by
the intellect,
But you ye untold latencies will thrill every page.
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