John Greenleaf Whittier quotes

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How dwarfed against his manliness
She sees the poor pretension,
Give fools their gold, and knaves their power;
Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall;
Through this broad street, restless ever,
Ebbs and flows a human tide,
She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
"Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!" he said
Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul has fled:
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore!
The glory from his gray hairs gone
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