THE DRAGONFLY
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wound myself in a white cocoon of singing,All day long in the brook’s uneven bed,Measuring out my soul in a mucous thread;Dimly now to the brook’s green bottom clinging,Men behold me, a worm spun-out and dead,Walled in an iron house of silky singing. Nevertheless at length, O reedy shallows,Not as a plodding nose to the slimy stem,But as a brazen wing with a spangled hem,Over the jewel-weed and the pink marshmallows,Free of these and making a song of them,I shall arise, and a song of the reedy shallows!
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