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A Hero

He was so foolish, the poor lad,     He made superior people smile Who knew not of the wings he had    Budding and growing all the while;

Nor that the laurel wreath was made Already for his curly head.

Silly and childish in his ways;     They said: "His future comes to naught." His future!

In the dreadful days    When in a toil his feet were

He hacked his way to glory bright Before his day went down in night.

He fretted wiser folk--small blame!     Such futile, feeble brains were his.

Now we doff hats to hear his name,     Ask pardon where his spirit is,

Because we never guessed him for A hero in the disguise he wore.

It matters little how we live    So long as we may greatly die.

Fashioned for great things,

O forgive    Our dullness in the days gone by!

Now glory wraps you like a cloak From us, and all such common folk.(September 1914)

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Katharine Tynan

Katharine Tynan (23 January 1859 – 2 April 1931) was an Irish writer,[1] known mainly for her novels and poetry. After her marriage in 1898 to t…
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