Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/288

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Yet life, how pitiful and how mean, Thy noblest story; When the high excitement of victory, The fulness of glory,

Nor the sorrow felt for the friend of his youth, Whose corpse he's keeping, Can give his human weakness force To keep from sleeping!

And this is the sum of our mortal state, The hopes we number,— Feverish waking, danger, death, And listless slumber.