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Sacred Texts: The Classics

The Songs of Bilitis: I. Bucolics In Pamphylia: Impatience

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I threw myself weeping into her arms, and for long minutes she felt my warm tears flowing over her shoulder before my anguish allowed me once again to speak: "Alas! I am only a child; the young men will not look at me. When shall I have lovely young breasts like yours, to swell my gown and tempt their kisses?