THE TRIUMPH
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hen life was a cobweb of stars for Beauty who cameIn the whisper of leaves or a bird's lone cry in the glen,On dawn-lit hills and horizons girdled with flameI sought for the triumph that troubles the faces of men. With death in the terrible flickering gloom of the fightI was cruel and fierce with despair; I was naked and bound;was stricken: and Beauty returned through the shambles of night;In the faces of men she returned; and their triumph I found.
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