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And did not let them sense

My buried Troy;

For if they had, what scorns,

Derision, jokes;

I sealed my City deep

From all those folks;

And, growing, dug each day What did I find

And given as gift by Homer old and Homer blind?

One Troy? No, ten!

Ten Troys? No, two times ten! Three dozen!

And each a richer, finer, brighter cousin!

All in my flesh and blood,

And each one true

So what's this mean?

Go dig the Troy in you