“Shine, Perishing Republic”: While this America settles in the mould of its vulgarity, heavily thickening to empire. And protest, only a bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the mass hardens. I sadly smiling remember that the flower fades to make fruit, the fruit...
...meteors are not needed less than mountains; shine, persisting Republic. But for my children, I would have them keep their distance form the thickening centre; corruption never has been compulsory, the societies lie at the monster’s feet there are left the mountains...
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...And boys, be in nothing so moderate as in love of man, a clever servant, insufferable master. There is the trap that catches the noblest spirits, that caught—they say—God, when he walked on earth.
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