Low on his fours the Lion
Treads with the surly Bear;
But Men straight upward from the dust
Walk with their heads in the air;
The free sweet winds of heaven,
The sunlight from on high
Beat on their clear bright cheeks and browns
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.
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