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 To peace on earth? Good will to men—oh, yes! That's easy; and it means no more than sap, Until we boil the water out of it Over the fire of sacrifice. I'll do it; And in a measurable way I've done it— But not for him. What are you smiling at? Well, so it went until a day in June. We were together under an old elm, Which now, I hope, is gone—though it's a crime In me that I should have to wish the death Of such a tree as that. There were no trees Like those that grew at school—until he came. We stood together under it that day, When he, by some ungovernable chance, All foreign to the former crafty care That he had used never to cross my favor, Told of a lie that stained a friend of mine