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THE Cities are full of pride,
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
But cling to their cities' hem
As a child to the mother's gown.