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Leaves of Grass (1891-92)
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SHUT NOT YOUR DOORS.
| SHUT not your doors to me proud libraries, |
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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 to every page. |