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Stephen Vincent Benet - ThanksStephen Vincent Benet - Thanks
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For these my thanks, not that I eat or sleep, Sweat or survive, but that at seventeen I could so blind myself in writing verse That the wall shuddered and the cry came forth And the numb hand that wrote was not my hand But a wise animal`s. Then the exhaustion and the utter sleep. O flagrant and unnecessary body, So hard beset, so clumsy in your skill! For these my thanks, not that I breathe and achef Talk with my kind, swim in the naked sea, But that the tired monster keeps the road And even now, even at thirty-eight, The metal heats, the flesh grows numb again And I can still go muttering down the street Not seeing the interminable world Nor the ape-faces, only the live coal.
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