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Song for Lonely Roads by Sherwood Anderson, 1876-1941

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Now let us understand each other, love,
Long time ago I crept off home,
To my own gods I went. The tale is old,
It has been told
By many men in many lands.
The lands belong to those who tell.
Now surely that is clear. After the plow had westward swept,
The gods bestowed the corn to stand.
Long, long it stood,
Strong, strong it grew,
To make a forest for new song. Deep in the corn the bargain hard
Youth with the gods drove home.
The gods remember,
Youth forgets.
Doubt not the soul of song that waits. The singer dies,
The singer lives,
The gods wait in the corn,
The soul of song is in the land.
Lift up your lips to that.