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Brahma - Emerson
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain
think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and
pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and
sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me
are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they
fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn
the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain
the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and
turn thy back on heaven.
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