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1850–1919

THE SWORD

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Amidst applauding cheers I won a prize. A cynic watched me, with ironic eyes; An open foe, in open hatred, sneered; I cared for neither. Then my friend appeared.

Eager, I listened for his glad‘ Well done.’ But sudden shadow seemed to shroud my sun. He praised me: yet each slow, unwilling word Forced from its sheath base Envy's hidden sword,

Two-edged, it wounded me; but, worst of all, It thrust my friend down from his pedestal, And showed him as he was — so small, so small.

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THE SWORD · Ella Wheeler Wilcox · Poetry Cove