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Low on his fours the Lion Treads with the surly Bear, But Men straight upward from the dust Walk with their heads in air; The free sweet winds of heaven, The sunlight from on high Beat on their clear bright cheeks and brows As they go striding by; The doors of all their houses They arch so they may go, Uplifted o'er the four-foot beasts, Unstooping, to and fro. |