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260 ʷʩʸʡ ʸʲʣ ʢˌʨ ʭʲʣ ʯʥ˦ ʣʬˌʢ ʯʸʲʥʥʹ ʯʩʠ ʢʸʥʡʱʮˋʩʬʩʥʥ ʸʲʣ ʨʬʮʩʸʣ - ʷʩʸʡ . ʨˌʨʹ ʸʲʣ ʯʥ˦ ʵʸˋʤ ʲʣʬʩʥʥ ʱˌʣ ʣʩʮ ʯʥʠ ʷʩʨʱˋʤ ʨʮʲʨˌ . ʢˌʨ ʭʲʣ ʯʥ˦ ʣʬˌʢ ʯʸʲʥʥʹ ʯʩʠ ʣʸˌʷˋ ʸʲˌʬʡ ˋ ʩʸʲ˦ ʩʣ ʦʩʠ . ʳʸˋʹ ʯʥʠ ʹʩʸʲʡʩ˦ ʯʥʠ ʥ˦ ʨʰʲʮʩʰˋ˝ʮˌʷˋ ʸʲʣ ʦʩʠ ʱʸˋʷ ʩʣ ʯ . ʢˌʨ ʭʲʣ ʯʥ˦ ʣʬˌʢ ʲʸʲʥʥʹ ʱˌʣ ʷʩʸʨʹ ʲʰʸʲʦ‫ٷ‬ʠ ʯʹʩʥʥʶ ʨʶʩʬʡ , ʯʶʲʰ ʩʥʥ ʯ˦ʸˌʥʥʸˋ˦ ʨʩʩʸʡ ʷʩʬʢ ʱˌʣ ʯʲʢʰˋ˦ ʥʶ . ʷʩʬʢ ʯʩʩʷ ʨʩʰ ʬʩʥʥ ʪʩʠ ʸʲʡˌ . ʣʥʱ ʯ‫ٷ‬ʮ ʯʥʠ ʸʲʶ ʯ‫ٷ‬ʮ ʬʩʥʥ ʪʩʠ . ʷʩʸʡ ʲʰʲʣʬˌʢ ˋ ʯʩʡ ʪʩʠ ʨˌʨʹ ʸʲʰʲʬˌʨʹ ʸʲʣ ʸʲʡʩʠ . 261 THE BRIDGE In the harsh gold of day the Williamsburg bridge is drowsing. The wild heart of the city breathes hot and weary. In the harsh gold of day the ferryboat is a blue chord. And feverish and sharp is the accompaniment of the cars. The harsh gold of day flashes through the iron cables, broadly cast like nets to seize joy. But it’s not joy I seek. I want my anguish and my mystery. I am a golden bridge over the steely city. ...

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