When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.
What can I say at seventy-five? "Thank God for my good life,and for all the love that has been given to me.
An Autobiography
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What can I say at seventy-five? "Thank God for my good life,and for all the love that has been given to me.
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