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This is my letter to the world,
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That never wrote to me,
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The simple news that Nature told,
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With tender majesty.
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Her message is committed
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To hands I cannot see;
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For love of her, sweet countrymen,
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Judge tenderly of me!
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Success is counted sweetest
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By those who ne'er succeed.
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To comprehend a nectar
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Requires sorest need.
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Not one of all the purple host
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Who took the flag to-day
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Can tell the definition,
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So clear, of victory,
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As he, defeated, dying,
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On whose forbidden ear
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The distant strains of triumph
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Break, agonized and clear!
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Our share of night to bear,
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Our share of morning,
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Our blank in bliss to fill,
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Our blank in scorning.
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Here a star, and there a star,
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Some lose their way.
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Here a mist, and there a mist,
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Afterwards -- day!
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ROUGE ET NOIR.
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Soul, wilt thou toss again?
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By just such a hazard
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Hundreds have lost, indeed,
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But tens have won an all.
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Angels' breathless ballot
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Lingers to record thee;
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Imps in eager caucus
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Raffle for my soul.
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ROUGE GAGNE.
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'T is so much joy! 'T is so much joy!
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If I should fail, what poverty!
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And yet, as poor as I
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Have ventured all upon a throw;
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Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so
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This side the victory!
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Life is but life, and death but death!
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Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!
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And if, indeed, I fail,
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At least to know the worst is sweet.
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Defeat means nothing but defeat,
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No drearier can prevail!
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And if I gain, -- oh, gun at sea,
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Oh, bells that in the steeples be,
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At first repeat it slow!
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For heaven is a different thing
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Conjectured, and waked sudden in,
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And might o'erwhelm me so!
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