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My far cry, though no one should echo,—

Though no one to listen should stand,

I shall dare with my burden the darkness

And I shall not retreat from this land;

Though I'm hurled 'neath the feet of the millions,

Who struggle their places to keep,

The sea-nymphs still bathe with my Fancy

And the Dryads still sweeten my sleep.

Though I'm crushed, cast away and forgotten,—

Though I'm buried in the dust of their cars,

I can see through their madness above me,—

I can feel the quick pulse of the stars;

Though my head be the foot-stool of tyrants,

Though my back be a step to their throne,

I still dwell with the kings of Orion

And I walk with the sun-queen alone.

Though the fire of my youth should consume me,—

Though my body a brimstone should be,

I can draw on the clouds for their water

And behold! I've of water a sea;

And though roofless, and friendless, and hopeless,

And loveless, and godless I stand,

The waves of my Life shall continue

To murmur and laugh on the Strand.