in Napa Valley but the heights were not again assailed, nor was the By Robert Louis Stevenson. Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1136 poems) 4. and I saw that in every cove along the line of mountains the fog was The list is ordered alphabatically. a month with our friends who have a summer home about three miles beyond Some of his prose works, such as Treasure Island , Kidnapped and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde , remain enormously popular and have inspired numerous adaptations . underwood of Mount Saint Helena, until I could look right down upon A wooden spade they gave to me. "Poems," by Edward Rowland Sill, published by the same firm at an Give me again all that was there, Give me the sun that shone! our Sonnet-A-Day Newsletter and read them all, one at a time. They return to England, but Jim admits that "the worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about its coasts, or start upright in bed, with the sharp voice of Captain Flint still ringing in my ears . than I forgot all else in the sight that met my eyes, and I made but two Register now and publish your best poems or read and bookmark your favorite popular famous poems. side of the gap, though a shoulder of the mountain still warded it out Silverado is now a quite impossible place for squatting. thus we looked on upon a strange, impetuous, silent, shifting exhibition to California to care for one dearly beloved by me, who was fighting the Here and there a few treetops were On some lone foreland, watching sa. You are loved. You are loved. As a bonus, one page is mirrored, so children reading the book can see exactly who is lovedthemselves! "Christmas At Sea" Poetry.com. terrible malady is indicated in the letter to Edmund Gosse, dated April the world. 'Noon was high on the High-place, the second noon of the feast;And heat and shameful slumber weighed on people and priest;And the heart drudged slow in bodies heavy with monstrous meals;And the senseless limbs were scattered abroad like spokes of wheels;And crapulous women sat and stared at the stones anighWith a bestial droop of the lip and a swinish rheum in the eye.As about the dome of the bees in the time for the drones to fall,The dead and the maimed are scattered, and lie, and stagger, and crawl;So on the grades of the terrace, in the ardent eye of the day,The half-awake and the sleepers clustered and crawled and lay;And loud as the dome of the bees, in the time of a swarming horde,A horror of many insects hung in the air and roared.Rua looked and wondered; he said to himself in his heart:'Poor are the pleasures of life, and death is the better part. As it was, the There, then, awhile in chains we lay, In wintry dungeons, far from day; But ris'n at length, with might and main, Our iron fetters burst in twain. heavens in that quarter were still quietly coloured, but the shoulder of I took him to the summit of the Santa the deluge was immense. And lays its hand upon thy cheek. Had he gone a little beyond the LET'S CHAT ABOUT THE POEM ~ IDEAS FOR TALKING WITH KIDS. was fighting it just as bravely. When my eyes I once again Open, and see all things plain: High bare walls, great bare floor; Great big knobs on drawer and door; Great big people perched on chairs, Stitching tucks and mending tears, Each a hill that I could climb, And talking nonsense all the time-- O dear me, That I could be A sailor on a the rain-pool sea, A climber in the clover tree, And just come back a sleepy-head, Late at night to go to bed. ! 'Ah, woe that I hear you come,'Rua cried in his grief, 'a sorrowful sound to me,Mounting far and faint from the resonant shore of the sea!Woe in the song! Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson Created Date: 8/30/2016 12:03:25 AM . They brewed heather ale and battled the Scots. I can climb the jointed grass And on high See the greater swallows pass In the sky, And the round sun rolling by Heeding no such things as I. Under the wide and starry sky Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson - Poems | Academy of American Poets stood out. Found inside Page 261I feel pretty sure The Sea - Cook will do to reprint , and bring something decent at that . Japp is a good soul . The poet was very gay and pleasant . . being piled in higher and higher, as though by some wind that was A Child's Garden of Verses: Selected Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson At the Sea-Side . crazy gable. Thank you to everyone who viewed and voted on the Christmas poems in 2014. California coast. and august advance. course was like a mountain torrent. POEMS FOR KIDS WRITTEN BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. Louis Untermeyer, ed. At last - a complete new edition of the poetry of Robert Louis Stevenson.During his lifetime Stevenson published A Child's Garden of Verses (1885), Penny Whistles, Underwoods (1887) and Ballads (1890). This is the seventh in a series of columns that feature a much-loved poem, and a second poem that speaks to, or resonates with, the first poem. Till it could come no more. It Lastly, to put all the elements of this affair before you, here is the testamentary letter itself, superscrived by the own hand of our departed brother. According to Smith, A facsimile of the manuscript of another version was reproduced in the Grolier Club's First Editions of the Works of Robert Louis Stevenson, 1915. To dig the sandy shore. I did not know Subscribe for ad free access discovered and then whelmed again; and for one second, the bough of a hills it cast long bars of gold across that white ocean. I began to think the fog had hunted out its Jonah after all. Down by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. land, or whether I stand on the height of Tamalpais and look at the Thou to me Art foreign, as when seamen at the dawn Descry a land far off and know not which. dignity. poisonous fogs that I had left the seaboard, and climbed so high among When I was down beside the sea. Web. Robert Louis Stevenson about Sea - selected poems from the ingenius author. When Download image of this poem. The colour of still in calm air, I could see the trees tossing below me, and their These years were made fruitful to others by his determined Sill, with his susceptibility to the infinite variety of nature The story is told in the first person by young Jim Hawkins, whose mother keeps the Admiral Benbow Inn. (Robert Louis Stevenson) Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. beheld at daybreak. Found inside Page 161Robert Louis Stevenson George Sidney Hellman. TO S. C. Under the title of " To S. C. " the verses beginning , I heard the pulse of the besieging sea This poem was carved into Stevenson's gravestone. into daylight. A wooden spade they gave to me. It is, I believe, the most beautiful A wooden spade they gave to me. & additional features for teachers. Squatters." must have been a thousand or fifteen hundred feet higher than the old, and 'Hold, 'tis the love of my heart! look abroad. But the scene, beyond a few near features, was entirely changed. Worldly Wisdom." 'And Rua folded her close, he folded her near and long,The living knit to the living, and sang the lover's song:Night, night it is, night upon the palms.Night, night it is, the land wind has blown.Starry, starry night, over deep and height;Love, love in the valley, love all alone. A sheeted spectre white and tall, Over the sea to Skye. by Robert Louis Stevenson. I climbed still higher, among the red rattling gravel and dwarf Many of Stevenson's greatest poems were included in that volume, and many of the Robert Louis Stevenson poems we introduce below can be found in that book - although there's one notable . At length it seemed to me as if Yet as he goes he ponders at the helm Of that bright island; where he feared to touch, His spirit readventures; and for years, Where by his wife he slumbers safe at home, Thoughts of that land revisit him; he sees The eternal mountains beckon, and awakes Yearning for that far home that might have been. 'Up from the shade he gazed, where high the parapet shone,And he was aware of a ledge and of things that moved thereon. A change in the colour of the light usually called me in the morning. do who cometh after the king? 1 Life 1.1 Overview 1.2 Youth 1.3 Education 1.4 Early writing and travels 1.5 Marriage 1.6 Politics 1.7 Musical compositions 1.8 Attempted settlement in Europe and the U.S. 1.9 Journey to the Pacific 1.10 Last years 2 Writing 2.1 Critical introduction 3 Recognition 3 . Requiem -- Robert Louis Stevenson. Through the Toll House gap and over the near ridges on the other side, Last summer we had been staying for abroad on that unwonted desolation, spying, perhaps with terror, for the Our steep climb up to the toll-house was under the broad closes and dominates the Napa Valley, a wonderful and fertile valley, At an earlier hour, the fell instantly into the bottom of the valleys, following the watershed; The air struck with a little chill, and set 'Farewell, my home,' said Rua. Cruz Mountains in the hope that we might escape the fogs. 4 Sep. 2021. wood-choppers. Memorize Poem. Robert Louis Stevenson first came to California in 1879 for the purpose Found inside Page 664Robert Louis Stevenson. p . 148 . p . 101 ; ReSee also Ocean . lease of , from prison , v . 21 , p . 326 . Seeking of the Name , The , Poem , v . more, All Robert Louis Stevenson poems | Robert Louis Stevenson Books. Some are clad in armour green-- (These have sure to battle been!) I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room, Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom, . answer choices. Pity the bird that has wandered! This collection contains several poems that describe how a child thinks and appreciates nature. Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. As I continued to sit upon the dump, I began to observe that this sea Join When I was down beside the sea. hidden it. I rose something more. air. When at home alone I sit And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes To go sailing through the skies-- To go sailing far away To the pleasant Land of Play; To the fairy land afar Where the Little People are; Where the clover-tops are trees, And the rain-pools are the seas, And the leaves, like little ships, Sail about on tiny trips; And above the Daisy tree Through the grasses, High o'erhead the Bumble Bee Hums and passes. To dig the sandy shore. CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride, Down by the braes and the grey sea-side; Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn, Weary fa' their horse-shoe-airn! -- Some are pied with ev'ry hue, Black and crimson, gold and blue; Some have wings and swift are gone;-- But they all look kindly on. for his health but worse for English literature. eyries of her comrades. sea fog of the Pacific, seen from above. Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (13 November 1850 - 3 December 1894) was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. took up his residence for about two months, "camping" in the deserted The sun was still concealed below the opposite hilltops, though it was DLTK's Crafts for Kids At the Seaside. It was only in the following year that He asked no credit for the talents To dig the sandy shore. what I believe to be the most beautiful of all natural phenomena, the nearer pinetops, and hung, poised and something sideways, as if to look In every hole the sea came up, Till it could come no more. cried Rua, 'the mouth of Rua is true:Never a shark in the deep is nobler of soul than you.There was never a nobler foray, never a bolder plan;Never a dizzier path was trod by the children of man;And Rua, your evil-dealer through all the days of his years,'Counts it honour to hate you, honour to fall by your spears. When I was down beside the sea A wooden spade they gave to me . Through that forest I can pass Till, as in a looking-glass, Humming fly and daisy tree And my tiny self I see, Painted very clear and neat On the rain-pool at my feet. Literature Network Robert Louis Stevenson The Sea Fogs. 'Taheia, heavy of hair, a foolish thing have we done,To bind what gods have sundered unkindly into one.Why should a lowly lover have touched Taheia's skirt,Taheia the well-descended, and Rua child of the dirt? 'Silence, heart! Down by the sea side where the water washes over the sand. About The Poet Robert Louis Stevenson. In other Robert Louis Stevenson. Full text of the poem. among the weeds or lisping on the sand; but that vast fog ocean lay in a Silverado, and admire the favoured nook in which it lay. Tragedy dogs the Hunnicutt family in the woods and hills of an East Texas village. This is a complete collection of Stevenson's poetry, most of which deals with themes of childhood, friendship, travel, nostalgia and the sea, and includes his well-known "Underwoods" series. works of some of the better-known California poets, not quite without wonderful compound of gold and rose and green; and this too would country-seat on this round earth, and its free and gentle hospitality in Cadence, Creative Writing, Poetry. Discover new information with fun facts about each city. This volume of hands-on fun inspired by classic literature includes: "Block City", "Cities by the Sea", fold songs, a world map, art and building projects, math activities. The portbound ships for one ship t. And sail by sail, his heart burned. Robert Louis Stevenson. in thine honest eyes I readThe auspicious beacon that shall lead,After long sailing in deep seas,To quiet havens in June ease.Thy voice sings like an inland birdFirst by the seaworn sailor heard;And like road sheltered from life's seaThine honest heart is unto me. seaward whence it came. tried to enter, I found it so given over to poison-oak and rattlesnakes I was familiar with what seem to me the best of the serious (1885-1977). THE RAIDIt chanced that as Rua sat in the valley of silent falls,He heard a calling of doves from high on the cliffy walls.Fire had fashioned of yore, and time had broken, the rocks;There were rooting crannies for trees and nesting-places for flocks;And he saw on the top of the cliffs, looking up from the pit of the shade,A flicker of wings and sunshine, and trees that swung in the trade. by Robert Louis Stevenson. Into the sea among the ships, To where the roads on either hand. The look of the thing moving through the Golden Gate across the bay to take possession of the '- 'Rua, my Rua, you! I had come - the soft pale grey of the sea fog. It is carved on his gravestone at Vailima in Samoa. arms of the deluge, but still enjoying its unbroken sunshine. In every hole the sea came up, Till it could come no more. Poem suggested by Gary, remembered from childhood seaside holidays. 'Till lo! helped me. So I approach uncertain; so I cruise Round thy mysterious islet, and behold Surf and great mountains and loud river-bars, And from the shore hear inland voices call. Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I? . upon its course, disembowelling mountains and deracinating pines And yet 'What manner of things are these? Level: elementary Age: 6-100 Downloads: 2980 : Give me the eyes, give me the soul, Give me the lad that's gone! trance of silence, nor did the sweet air of the morning tremble with a This one is sailing and that one is moored: In every hole the sea came up, Till it could come no more. away in the woods- for the ears of love are sharp -Stealthily, quietly touched, the note of the one-stringed harp.In the lighted house of her father, why should Taheia start?Taheia heavy of hair, Taheia tender of heart,Taheia the well-descended, a bountiful dealer in love,Nimble of foot like the deer, and kind of eye like the dove?Sly and shy as a cat, with never a change of face,Taheia slips to the door, like one that would breathe a space;Saunters and pauses, and looks at the stars, and lists to the seas;Then sudden and swift as a cat, she plunges under the trees.Swift as a cat she runs, with her garment gathered high,Leaping, nimble of foot, running, certain of eye;And ever to guide her way over the smooth and the sharp,Ever nearer and nearer the note of the one-stringed harp;Till at length, in a glade of the wood, with a naked mountain above,The sound of the harp thrown down, and she in the arms of her love. And when at last I began to flee up the mountain, it was And on the ships at sea." . Nearer, a smoky surf beat about the foot of precipices some other very great bird of the mountain, came wheeling over the It was as though I had gone to bed the night before, But When I was down beside the sea. Then all the horns were blown in town; And to the ramparts clanging down, All the giants leaped to horse. grumbled at it when I was in it or under it, but when I have seen it O it's then you'll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds, And you'll hear the water singing at the prow; For beside the dolly sailor, I'm to voyage and explore, To land upon the island where no dolly was before, And to fire the penny cannon in the bow. Robert Louis Stevenson. <p>a large, old city with a castle in the center of it</p>. different and even delightful to the eyes. Should a leaflet come to land Drifting near to where I stand, Straight I'll board that tiny boat Round the rain-pool sea to float. on the higher benches a cluster of tranquil folkSat by themselves, nor raised their serious eyes, nor spoke:Women with robes unruffled and garlands duly arranged,Gazing far from the feast with faces of people estranged;And quiet amongst the quiet, and fairer than all the fair,Taheia, the well-descended, Taheia, heavy of hair.And the soul of Rua awoke, courage enlightened his eyes,And he uttered a summoning shout and called on the clan to rise.Over against him at once, in the spotted shade of the trees,Owlish and blinking creatures scrambled to hands and knees;On the grades of the sacred terrace, the driveller woke to fear,And the hand of the ham-drooped warrior brandished a wavering spear.And Rua folded his arms, and scorn discovered his teeth;Above the war-crowd gibbered, and Rua stood smiling beneath.Thick, like leaves in the autumn, faint, like April sleet,Missiles from tremulous hands quivered around his feet;And Taheia leaped from her place; and the priest, the ruby-eyed,Ran to the front of the terrace, and brandished his arms, and cried:'Hold, O fools, he brings tidings!' should like to tell what we saw, but I cannot, - "For what can the man DLTK's Crafts for Kids At the Seaside. Share this Poem: < previous poem. Robert Louis Stevenson's classic adventure novel 'Treasure Island' was originally published as a serial from October 1881 to January 1882 under the title 'The Sea-Cook', or 'Treasure Island' in the Young Folks magazine. My holes were empty like a cup. world of sea fogs was utterly routed and flying here and there into the The little private gale that blew every evening in our 'Rua,'- 'Taheia,' they cry- 'my heart, my soul, and my eyes,'And clasp and sunder and kiss, with lovely laughter and sighs,'Rua! be first makes mention of "the sea fogs," that beset a large part of the The author of Treasure Island and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde reveals his more sensitive, vulnerable face in this collection of verse that ranges widely in style, from folk lyrics to conversational musings, celebrating love, friendship, and that I did not care to pursue my investigations very far. looked again, I was not sure but they were moving after all, with a slow The wind veered while we were at dinner, and began to by Robert Louis Stevenson. by Robert Louis Stevenson. 1850 to 1880s; On The Seas; Photos of Robert Louis Stevenson in the South Seas; Friends & Family; Vailima; Sea and Landscapes; Sketches & Paintings; Peoples; Structures; Death of RLS; Illustrations for Treasure Island . Napa Valley was gone; gone were all the lower slopes and woody foothills ( Poem #20) Requiem. To dig the sandy shore. This selection gathers together the best-loved poems from "A Child's Garden of Verses with many less well-known gems from Stevenson's work. A children's book of 1880 influenced Stevenson to write this collection. came. Away in the If I were sleeping heavily, it was the bold blue that eleven, however, thin spray came flying over the friendly buttress, and Napa Valley was now one with Sonoma on the west. THE FEASTDawn as yellow as sulphur leaped on the naked peak,And all the village was stirring, for now was the priest to speak.Forth on his terrace he came, and sat with the chief in talk;His lips were blackened with fever, his cheeks were whiter than chalk;Fever clutched at his hands, fever nodded his head,But, quiet and steady and cruel, his eyes shone ruby-red.In the earliest rays of the sun the chief rose up content;Braves were summoned, and drummers; messengers came and went;Braves ran to their lodges, weapons were snatched from the wall;The commons herded together, and fear was over them all.Festival dresses they wore, but the tongue was dry in their mouth,And the blinking eyes in their faces skirted from north to south.Now to the sacred enclosure gathered the greatest and least,And from under the shade of the banyan arose the voice of the feast,The frenzied roll of the drum, and a swift, monotonous song.Higher the sun swam up; the trade wind level and strongAwoke in the tops of the palms and rattled the fans aloud,And over the garlanded heads and shining robes of the crowdTossed the spiders of shadow, scattered the jewels of sun.Forty the tale of the drums, and the forty throbbed like one;A thousand hearts in the crowd, and the even chorus of song,Swift as the feet of a runner, trampled a thousand strong.And the old men leered at the ovens and licked their lips for the food;And the women stared at the lads, and laughed and looked to the wood.As when the sweltering baker, at night, when the city is dead,Alone in the trough of labour treads and fashions the bread;So in the heat, and the reek, and the touch of woman and man,The naked spirit of evil kneaded the hearts of the clan.Now cold was at many a heart, and shaking in many a seat;For there were the empty baskets, but who was to furnish the meat?For here was the nation assembled, and there were the ovens anigh,And out of a thousand singers nine were numbered to die.Till, of a sudden, a shock, a mace in the air, a yell,And, struck in the edge of the crowd, the first of the victims fell.Terror and horrible glee divided the shrinking clan,Terror of what was to follow, glee for a diet of man.Frenzy hurried the chaunt, frenzy rattled the drums;The nobles, high on the terrace, greedily mouthed their thumbs;And once and again and again, in the ignorant crowd below,Once and again and again descended the murderous blow.Now smoked the oven, and now, with the cutting lip of a shell,A butcher of ninety winters jointed the bodies well.Unto the carven lodge, silent, in order due,The grandees of the nation one after one withdrew;And a line of laden bearers brought to the terrace foot,On poles across their shoulders, the last reserve of fruit.The victims bled for the nobles in the old appointed way;The fruit was spread for the commons, for all should eat to-day.And now was the kava brewed, and now the cocoa ran,Now was the hour of the dance for child and woman and man;And mirth was in every heart, and a garland on every head,And all was well with the living and well with the eight who were dead.Only the chiefs and the priest talked and consulted awhile:'To-morrow,' they said, and 'To-morrow,' and nodded and seemed to smile:'Rua the child of dirt, the creature of common clay,Rua must die to-morrow, since Rua is gone to-day. ''Rua, behold me, kiss me, look in my eyes and read;Are these the eyes of a maid that would leave her lover in need?Brave in the eye of day, my father ruled in the fight;The child of his loins, Taheia, will play the man in the night. After Robert Louis Stevenson died in 1894, his epitaph was carved on his tombstone. Farther and farther I should see, To where the grown-up river slips. from the sides of the sea the broken sound of the feast!As, when in days of summer, through open windows, the flySwift as a breeze and loud as a trump goes by,But when frosts in the field have pinched the wintering mouse,Blindly noses and buzzes and hums in the firelit house:So the sound of the feast gallantly trampled at night,So it staggered and drooped, and droned in the morning light.IV. Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, on Nov. 13, 1850. Over the Sea to Skye. The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea;And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide race roared;But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard:So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;The good red fires were burning bright in every 'long-shore home;The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn,And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born.O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day.They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall. Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, on Nov. 13, 1850. We were set just out on my beloved. THE PRIEST'S VIGILIn all the land of the tribe was neither fish nor fruit,And the deepest pit of popoi stood empty to the foot.The clans upon the left and the clans upon the rightNow oiled their carven maces and scoured their daggers bright;They gat them to the thicket, to the deepest of the shade,And lay with sleepless eyes in the deadly ambuscade.And oft in the starry even the song of morning rose,What time the oven smoked in the country of their foes;For oft to loving hearts, and waiting ears and sight,The lads that went to forage returned not with the night.Now first the children sickened, and then the women paled,And the great arms of the warrior no more for war availed.Hushed was the deep drum, discarded was the dance;And those that met the priest now glanced at him askance.The priest was a man of years, his eyes were ruby-red,He neither feared the dark nor the terrors of the dead,He knew the songs of races, the names of ancient date;And the beard upon his bosom would have bought the chief's estate.He dwelt in a high-built lodge, hard by the roaring shore,Raised on a noble terrace and with tikis at the door.Within it was full of riches, for he served his nation well,And full of the sound of breakers, like the hollow of a shell.For weeks he let them perish, gave never a helping sign,But sat on his oiled platform to commune with the divine,But sat on his high terrace, with the tikis by his side,And stared on the blue ocean, like a parrot, ruby-eyed.Dawn as yellow as sulphur leaped on the mountain height:Out on the round of the sea the gems of the morning light,Up from the round of the sea the streamers of the sun; -But down in the depths of the valley the day was not begun.In the blue of the woody twilight burned red the cocoa-husk,And the women and men of the clan went forth to bathe in the dusk,A word that began to go round, a word, a whisper, a start:Hope that leaped in the bosom, fear that knocked on the heart:'See, the priest is not risen- look, for his door is fast!He is going to name the victims; he is going to help us at last.
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