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Calamus.
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15.

O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,
Candid, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops,
From wounds made to free you whence you were
prisoned,
From my face—from my forehead and lips,
From my breast—from within where I was concealed—
Press forth, red drops—confession
drops,
Stain every page—stain every song I sing, every
word I say, bloody drops,
Let them know your scarlet heat—let them glisten,
Saturate them with yourself, all ashamed and wet,
Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleeding
drops,
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.

16.

1.Who is now reading this?

2.May-be one is now reading this who knows some
wrong-doing of my past life,
Or may-be a stranger is reading this who has secretly
loved me,
Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions
and egotisms with derision,
Or may-be one who is puzzled at me.

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