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IN the new garden, in all the parts, In cities now, modern, I wander, Though the second or third result, or still further, primitive yet, Days, places, indifferent--though various, the same, Time, Paradise, the Mannahatta, the prairies, finding me unchanged, Death indifferent--Is it that I lived long since? Was I buried very long ago? For all that, I may now be watching you here, this moment; For the future, with determined will, I seek--the woman of the future, You, born years, centuries after me, I seek.
Walt Whitman
Read poems about / on: future, woman, death, time, city, women
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