A Ballad For Bibi

Once upon a long ago there was a child there was a child who had to bear within her breast a heart too wild. A heart that hurled itself against every blandish ment of cell: unreconciled to risklessness as hawk or lark that cannot long (as what it is) subsist on daily dole in dish but must have O fierce! O bright! all of every where to brave: matching against the cruelest price one beating need, one test unmade. So time went past so time went by with durance heart doomed as the pinioned bird that shrinks on every pinched provisionment. Until -- and here I can but speak of what by another child was learned -- suddenly it found,m that wild quick thing, a way to sing itself between all gilded bars that caged it in! And thus, as sinewed song, was launched out -- O out -- on to airs no bird: not hawk, not lark or even the imperial eagle risen bold into sun ever has known. From once upon how long ago this tale is retold by me, for you who now turn seven

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