Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 235

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CCXXXV
Therefore I wrote it, not that men should buy— I care not, I, to sell my soul for bread. The craving senses must themselves be deadBefore the soul in such extremes could die.Therefore I wrote it, not that men should cry, "This is well thought of!" "This is bravely said!" For flattery's poison is a thing to dreadMore than the steel-tipped shafts of enmity.

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