So long as my spirit still
Is glad of breath
And lifts its plumes of pride
In the dark face of death;
While I am curious still
Of love and fame,
Keeping my heart too high
For the years to tame,
How can I quarrel with fate
Since I can see
I am a debtor to life,
Not life to me?


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Add Debtor to your library.

Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Deep In The Night

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