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Vox Corporis     By Sara Teasdale The beast to the beast is calling, And the soul bends down to wait; Like the stealthy lord of the jungle, The white man calls his mate. The beast to the beast is calling, They rush through the twilight sweet, But the soul is a wary hunter, He will not let them meet. Extra Info: Printable Page Add Your Thoughts on this poem. This page viewed 891 times.

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