Now while my lips are living
Their words must stay unsaid,
And will my soul remember
To speak when I am dead?
Yet if my soul remembered
You would not heed it, dear,
For now you must not listen,
And then you could not hear.
by Sara Teasdale
And thus the people every year in the valley of humid July did sacrifice themselves to the long green phallic god and eat and eat and eat. T...
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