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D R I V I N G T H R O U G H O H I O I We slept that night in Delaware, Ohio: A magnificent and sleepy country, Oak country, sheep country, sod country. We slept in a huge white tourist home With National Geographies on the table. II North of Columbus there is a sort of torpid joy: The slow and muddy river, The whitebarns leaning into the ground, Cottonwoods with their trunks painted white, And houses with small observatories on top, As if Ohio were the widow's coast, looking over The dangerous Atlantic. in Now we drive north past the white cemeteries So rich in the morning air! All morning I have felt the sense of death; I am full of love, and love this torpid land. Some day I will go back, and inhabit again The sleepy ground where Harding was born. 33 ...

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