...And all men kill the thing they love
By all let this be heard
Some do it with a bitter look
Some with a flattering word
The brave man with a sword!
..............................
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by
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I walked, with other souls in pain
Within another ring
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing
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