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OME one said, He is no friend who will not tell my faults. And so I sat me down to look for thine, To mark the sable flaws that fleck thine ermine. I found a scorn unwise for things ignoble, A power of silent wrath consuming wrong, A way of digging deep below the sunshine, A doubt of self, and trust in other men ; I said, " These are thy follies." I found a habit of self-sacrifice, A tardy vision of rights personal, A way of stepping back from thrusting crowds, A loose light hold of things material ; I said, "There thou art wrong."