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242

Leaves of Grass.

24.

Lift me close to your face till I whisper,
What you are holding is in reality no book, nor part
of a book,
It is a man, flushed and full-blooded — it is I — So
long!
We must separate — Here! take from my lips this
kiss,
Whoever you are, I give it especially to you;
So long — and I hope we shall meet again.

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