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“We are changed by beauty, too. Never did I know what beauty could mean to me until I stood one day in a field of blowing thistledown . . . They rested on my eyelids, they caught in my hair, they glistened silverly on the gray wool of my sweater. I did not touch one of them myself, and yet I have kept them all. If I could have prayed then, I should have besought Apollo to make me like the seed of the thistle. ”
// from The Dingbat of Arcady by Marguerite Ogden Bigelow Wilkinson, 1922
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