It is a red sea
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hey quiver gentlyFrom base to summit.Ripples of impulse run through them,Flattering resistance. Soon they will fall;Already smoke yearns upward.Clouds of dust,Crash of collapsing cubes. I prefer deeper patience,Monotony of stalled beasts.O angle-builders,Vainly have you prolonged your effort,For I descend amid you,Past rungs and slopes of curving slippery steel.
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