Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea. All Rights Reserved. becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows. Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land. My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs. If our colors are struck and the fighting done? I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me. Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my, Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that. I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of. This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such a, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man. This attention to detail and desire to improve his works is one of the key characteristics to Whitman. And will never be any more perfection than there is now. my breath is tight in its. Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself. I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down. Whitman's “Song of Myself” is his grand poem and it is in its way, an American epic. Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. for I see you. The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my. And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. For me children and the begetters of children. Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Walt Whitman is primarily known for a collection of poems called Leaves of Grass, which he completely revised at least five times during the course of his life and which appeared in print in at least three different editions. Life & Letters | Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon, Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree. Whitman breaks up “Song of Myself” with a kind of parable. hankering, gross, mystical, nude; How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat? GUFFO.IN © 2019 TERM & CONDITIONS AND PRIVATE POLICIES. “Song of Myself” is a sprawling combination of biography, sermon, and poetic meditation. “Song of Myself” is probably his most recognized poem, and though it would seem highly self-centered, the truth about the poem is that the speaker isn’t necessarily Whitman himself but a single voice, also called … Where are you off to, lady? Births have brought us richness and variety. Whitman, who praises words "as simple as grass" (section 39) forgoes standard verse and stanza patterns in favor of a simple, legible style that can appeal to a mass audience.. And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something, And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty. I have said that the soul is not more than the body. The sky up there—yet here or next door, or across the way? This poem had no title in the first (1855) edition of Leaves of Grass. In Leaves of Grass (1855, 1891-2), he celebrated democracy, nature, love, and friendship. Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel, First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to, Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox. Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me. Whitman glorifies the settings and inhabitants of nature as a model for human society in “Song of Myself,” using it to extend equality and liberty to new groups of people, among them minorities and women. Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine. I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force. You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me. He revised often, for one thing. Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you! Distributed under a Creative Commons License. The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee, As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them, The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their part-, The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof'd garret and harks to the. He identifies with humanity, ' For … My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain. The sharp-hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill. And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps. And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and. And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God! A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me. For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears. And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest. These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas. I do not know what it is any, I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green. Beginning in medias res--in the middle of the poet's life--it loosely follows a quest pattern. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation. He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own, proves the width of my own. ), These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they, If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next, If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are. Myself moving forward then and now and forever. The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to. And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go. I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load. I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips. If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next. Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me. All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine. These are two proto-modernists. Little streams pass'd all over their bodies. I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.). So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their. The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty, Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh, Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of. Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you. ‘Song of Myself’ is long, but well worth devoting ten or fifteen minutes to reading, whether you’re familiar with Whitman’s distinctive and psalmic free verse style or new to the world of Walt Whitman’s poetry. Let the physician and the priest go home. Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail. " Song of Myself " might be the most egotistical poem ever written: it's all about me, myself, and I. have you reckon'd. The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their. He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher. Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there. I am the teacher of athletes. This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded. No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger. Here's the poem: Song of Myself… Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised. To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door. And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes! Reminding us again of how “Song of Myself” is primarily an urban poem, Whitman gives us the perfect lines about being a single self among many: “This is the city and I am one of the citizens,” whose impressions and interests all intersect and overlap, potentially creating a democratic oneness of … I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the begin-. I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment. Speaker- The speaker shifts their views on nature and animals to their self Subject- the subject shifts from animals to men to the speaker. This has the effect of throwing death in his poems into relief, accentuating the dialectic between these two forces. SONG OF MYSELF. Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that. Is he from the Mississippi country? Which of the young men does she like the best? Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits. And what do you think has become of the women and chil-. I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases. ONE of Walt Whitman's favorite pastimes was to ride the ferry back and forth between Brooklyn and Manhattan. I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Why should I wish to see God better than this day? I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me? Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly; Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome. Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground. I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied. The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited. His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and. prairie-life, bush-life? And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! 'I Celebrate myself, and sing myself'-so original. ... Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning. The speaker stresses the spiritual significance of a cathartic self, unburdened by the programming of society. does the early redstart twittering. If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of. I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin. Sermons, creeds, theology—but the fathomless human brain. O welcome, ineffable grace of dying, Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows. And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book—but the printer and the printing-, The well-taken photographs—but your wife or friend close and, The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets—, In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture—but the host and. Near by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin, The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully. I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself, ... of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,) ... Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, what are you? And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so. Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my, Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever. Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded. A call in the midst of the crowd, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explo-. My words itch at your ears till you understand them. I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires. They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins. Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from. ORIGINAL THESIS PARAGRAPH “Song of Myself” – Walt Whitman Known for constant revisions, Walt Whitman continuously tweaked and republished the same works of poetry again and again. Resources | Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you! now I see it is true, what I guess'd at. That I could forget the mockers and insults! The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron, The squaw wrapt in her yellow-hemm'd cloth is offering moccasins, The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with half-shut, As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat the plank is thrown for, The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it, The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago, The clean-hair'd Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in, The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporter's, The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper counts at, The conductor beats time for the band and all the performers. And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is, And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own, And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the, And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds, And there is no trade or employment but the young man following, And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd, And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and. Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd. Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors? I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and, (They do not know how immortal, but I know.). In “Song of Myself,” Whitman has crafted his ideal poet within his idea of poetry perfected. Regardless of others, ever regardful of others. The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited. And what is reason? Leaves of Grass (1855) and the Cities of Whitman’s Memory william pannapacker 199 9. The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats. And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps. Song Of Myself By Walt Whitman. A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may, Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the. Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside. The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air. But roughs and little children better than they. Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines. The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below. Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female. I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face. Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse. I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord. I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns—O grass of graves—O perpetual transfers and pro-. Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him, Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me, Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by. Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths. Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute. I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt. My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient, Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand, Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, saluting the, Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in. what have you to confide to me? Some half-kill'd attempted to crawl away, These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the blunts, A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more. The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol, The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the, The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the. Published Works | Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me, Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or. A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons. My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms. By my life-lumps! Whitman begins his long poem at age 37, in perfect health. Undrape! And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green. I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange. Not a single one over thirty years of age. Whitman in his poem “Songs of Myself”, develops a new understanding of everything around, including life, self, … I accept Reality and dare not question it. Speeding with tail'd meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest, Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in. Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt. I see in them and myself the same old law. This attention to detail and desire to improve his works is one of the key characteristics to Whitman. I see that the elementary laws never apologize. Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, con-. See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that. is he Kanadian? Live Now | LATEST IGNOU SOLVED ASSIGNMENT PDF PURCHASE HERE FOR FEBRUARY EXAM (LAST DATE 31 DECEMBER 2020), NEW ADMISSION DOWNLOAD IGNOU ID Card 2020, IGNOU में EXAM देने से पहले जान ले ये 6 बातें ।, Live Now | ✏FREE IGNOU SOLVED ASSIGNMENT 2019-20 FOR FEBRUARY EXAM 2021 (SUBMIT BEFORE 31 DECEMBER 2020), FREE IGNOU BEGE-101 SOLVED ASSIGNMENT 2018-19, CHECK YOUR STUDY MATERIAL STATUS 2021 :- IGNOU UPDATE. Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten'd, atheistical. Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship. Life And Nature In Whitman's Songs Of Myself 1234 Words | 5 Pages. I am mad for it to be in contact with me. This is the original 1855 version of Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself. what are you doing? In SONG OF MYSELF, a man puts his destiny on the table and tells us: “I am the one who waters the roots of everything that grows, and the proof of who I am I carry it in my face; whatever he says about me, you must point to it as yours, because only … Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun. You laggards there on guard! On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire. If no other in the world be aware I sit content. What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass. You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. look to your arms! Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while. This has the effect of throwing death in his poems into relief, accentuating the dialectic between these two forces. In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach. It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still. Tone- The speaker's tone shifts from observant to wistful throughout the poem. Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly. Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-. Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. “Song of Myself” By Walt Whitman (1855) 1 I CELEBRATE myself; And what I assume you shall assume; For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you. Much of Whitman's poetry resounds with Biblical allusions and innuendo. Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed. Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion. Commentary | Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game, Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with my dog and gun by my, The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from. Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush. We have had ducking and deprecating about enough. Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and. All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount. Whitman begins his long poem at age 37, in perfect health. Depriving me of my best as for a purpose. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers. They are but parts, any thing is but a part. Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital. Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you. First published in 1855 in Whitman's collection Leaves of Grass, 'Song of Myself' is one of the best known and most influential poems ever written by an American. 'Leaves of Grass', which contains 'Song of Myself', would occupy him for the rest of his long life. Pleas'd with the homely woman as well as the handsome, Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks. Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent. Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly. Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,), 'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and, Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's, nine times. I find one side a balance and the antipodal side a balance. Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us. who will soonest be through with. Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions, You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look. Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd. Song of Myself, 2. Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. Why should I pray? In lines 15-24 of "song of myself, 10" the cadance of whitmans free verse is achieved primarily by parallel structure One result of the rolling cadence in "song myself, 33" is that lines vary greatly in This the common air that bathes the globe. Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become. The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my, In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen. The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon. A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest. I do not snivel that snivel the world over. ‘Song of the Open Road’ by Walt Whitman appeared in what many scholars deem one of the most influential poetry texts of all time, Leaves of Grass, which was first published on July 4, 1855. It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life. Pictures & Sound. These come to me days and nights and go from me again. I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, By the city's quadrangular houses—in log huts, camping with. They scorn the best I can do to relate them. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for, I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken. What blurt is this about virtue and about vice? Walt Whitman - 1819-1892. Nor any more youth or age than there is now. They do not hasten, each man hits in his place. To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the, The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived. I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up. The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me, My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his. The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely. This poem presents a continual stream of human consciousness, where he attempts to analyze death as natural and transformative process, which ought to occur to everybody. Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar. Whitman himself made such comparisons, going so far as to … I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy. And to those themselves who sank in the sea! Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns. Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you! The sentries desert every other part of me. I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies. I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. They rise together, they slowly circle around. From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements. Yes, we agree that WHITMAN’S SONG OF MYSELF is primarily a poem of hope. I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average. And in my soul I swear I never will deny him. The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close. The bull and the bug never worshipp'd half enough. Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction, Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr'd laths, their white, By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for, Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels, The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to, Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his, What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about. They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon. The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words. The saints and sages in history—but you yourself? She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window. This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning. Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the, The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through. Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson. Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them, Old age superbly rising! I do not call one greater and one smaller. Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the whitewash'd church, Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preach-. The young mother and old mother comprehend me, The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where. A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with, At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tack-, At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the, Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (lov-, Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake. Song of Myself - Study Guide. Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me. (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place. I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you;), The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great, On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined, The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the. Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead, The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw. Outlines! For one thing, it represents a huge break from the formal traditions of the past. Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house, Putting higher claims for him there with his roll'd-up sleeves driving, Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke, Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to. The clock indicates the moment—but what does eternity indicate?
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