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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.