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Books by Whitman

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AS if a phantom caress'd me,

I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore;

But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by
the shore—the one I loved, that caress'd me,

As I lean and look through the glimmering light—that
one has utterly disappear'd,

And those appear that are hateful to me, and mock me.

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