Indifferently, ’mid public, private haunts, in solitude, Behind the mountain and the wood, Companion of the city’s busiest streets, through the assemblage, It and its radiations constantly glide.
O I think it is I—I think no one was ever happier than I, And who has lavish’d all? for I lavish constantly the best I have, And who proudest? for I think I have reason to be the proudest son alive—for I am the son of the brawny and tall-topt city, And who has been bold and true? for I would be the boldest and truest being of the universe, And who benevolent? for I would show more benevolence than all the rest, And who has receiv’d the love of the most friends? for I know what it is to…
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The history of computers is a history of constant technological advancement.