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My Portion is Defeat-today-
A paler luck than Victory-
Less Paeans-fewer Bells-
The Drums don't follow Me-with tunes-
Defeat-a somewhat slower-means-
More Arduous than Balls-

'Tis populous with Bone and stain-
And Men too straight to stoop again-,
And Piles of solid Moan-
And Chips of Blank-in Boyish Eyes-
And scraps of Prayer-
And Death's surprise,
Stamped visible-in Stone-

There's somewhat prouder, over there-
The Trumpets tell it to the Air-
How different Victory
To Him who has it-and the One
Who to have had it, would have been
Contender-to die-