The Conqueror

They saw her conquer sorrow day by day,
Laugh, sing and hide with roses every scar;
And deemed it but her right to hear them say,
“How brave—how brave you are!”

A high reward!—They never knew nor guessed
How all her heart but craved a beggar's dole,
Yearning for any voice from all the rest
To say, “Poor Soul, poor Soul!”
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