Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,
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 everything,
A book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by the intellect,
But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.
(Walt Whitman)
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