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From My Ántonia
by Willa Cather
When the sun was dropping low
Ántonia came up (from the fields)
How much older (she was)
…a tall (girl), strong girl…
(“Jim!” she greeted me)
We chatted a moment,
(Oh, she was beautiful)
Sunburned…
with her blouse open at the neck
and her throat (plastered with dust)
My Ántonia!