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The Cities are full of pride,

Challenging each to eachThis from her mountain-side,

That from her burthened beach.

They count their ships full tale

Their corn and oil and wine, Derrick and loom and bale,

And rampart's gun-flecked line ; City by city they hail :

“Hast aught to match with mine?"

And the men that breed from them

They traffic up and down, But cling to their cities' hem

As a child to the mother's gown.

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