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Updated: May 8, 2025
Then my daughter was beautiful, and her body was like a swaying wand of the boolda tree. But my city passed, and she was broken like a trailing vine, and the young man came no more." "But if he came again now?" "He would not come." "But if he had come while she lay there like a trailing vine, and listened to her voice, and thought upon her words and loved her still.
The people were in the presence of a monster which could sweep them from their homes as a hail-storm scatters the hanging nests of wild bees. In a thousand homes little red lights of propitiation were shining, and the sweet boolda wood was burning at a thousand shrines.
Then my daughter was beautiful, and her body was like a swaying wand of the boolda tree. But my city passed, and she was broken like a trailing vine, and the young man came no more." "But if he came again now?" "He would not come." "But if he had come while she lay there like a trailing vine, and listened to her voice, and thought upon her words and loved her still.
The people were in the presence of a monster which could sweep them from their homes as a hail-storm scatters the hanging nests of wild bees. In a thousand homes little red lights of propitiation were shining, and the sweet boolda wood was burning at a thousand shrines.
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