gpt: add Thanatopsis
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2768704062
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@ -10,6 +10,11 @@ const scroller = chat_window.querySelector('.messages-scroller');
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textarea.message_history = JSON.parse(window.sessionStorage.getItem('message_history')) || [''];
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textarea.history_index = 0;
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const message = window.location.search;
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if (message) {
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handle_message(message.replace(/^\?/, ''));
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}
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function resize_textarea() {
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textarea.style.height = 0;
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textarea.style.height = (textarea.scrollHeight - 4) + 'px';
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@ -28,5 +28,10 @@
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"title": "After Apple-Picking",
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"author": "Robert Frost",
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"filename": "apple-picking"
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},
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{
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"title": "Thanatopsis",
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"author": "William Cullen Bryant",
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"filename": "thanatopsis"
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}
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]
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@ -0,0 +1,85 @@
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Thanatopsis
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William Cullen Bryant
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To him who in the love of Nature holds
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Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
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A various language; for his gayer hours
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She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
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And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
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Into his darker musings, with a mild
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And healing sympathy, that steals away
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Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
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Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
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Over thy spirit, and sad images
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Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
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And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
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Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
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Go forth, under the open sky, and list
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To Nature’s teachings, while from all around—
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Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
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Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
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The all-beholding sun shall see no more
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In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
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Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
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Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
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Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
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Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
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And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
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Thine individual being, shalt thou go
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To mix for ever with the elements,
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To be a brother to the insensible rock
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And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
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Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
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Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
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Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
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Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
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Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
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With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,
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The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good,
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Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
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All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
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Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales
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Stretching in pensive quietness between;
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The venerable woods—rivers that move
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In majesty, and the complaining brooks
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That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
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Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
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Are but the solemn decorations all
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Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
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The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
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Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
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Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
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The globe are but a handful to the tribes
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That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings
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Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
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Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
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Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
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Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there:
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And millions in those solitudes, since first
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The flight of years began, have laid them down
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In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
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So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
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In silence from the living, and no friend
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Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
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Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
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When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
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Plod on, and each one as before will chase
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His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
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Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
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And make their bed with thee. As the long train
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Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
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The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
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In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
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The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man—
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Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
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By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
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So live, that when thy summons comes to join
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The innumerable caravan, which moves
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To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
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His chamber in the silent halls of death,
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Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
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Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
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By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
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Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
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About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
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