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This book, when I am dead, will be / A little faint perfume of me.
People who knew me well will say, / “She really used to think that way.”
I do not write it to survive / My mortal self, but, being alive
And full of curious thoughts today, / It pleases me, somehow, to say,
“This book when I am dead will be / A little faint perfume of me.”

Edna St. Vincent Millay