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My life does not belong to me:
Neither does it belong to any other person.

Otherwise this chatter and comfort would be sufficient:
This ingrowing family life would be gracious and excellent:
This ease of the rut would suit for a lifetime.

But no: Earth and the heavens are in growth: and the sap is climbing through me:
I must go the way of the skies:
I must feel the star-tendencies and give myself to them:
My life belongs to creation, as a hand belongs to a body.

If then, my day's work done,
Time is allowed for gossip and the choke of families,
Gladly will I take my ease, and smoke, and talk:
But I shall not forget the business of the stars just above the roof of the room.
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