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202

III. OUR VICTORY

Wilt thou not trust me, love, and wait the day
When listening hearts do homage to my song?
Wilt thou not trust me though the toil be long
And many nights and mornings flee away
Ere Fame's hand touch to gold the lingering grey?
Wilt thou be sweet and true, if I am strong?
—Waiting the hour when Justice slays all wrong
And when Fame's lips my conquering will obey.
Wilt thou not trust me till I bring thee indeed
A crown beyond the crown of highest kings?
The laurel crown that crowns the soul that sings
And soothes the forehead where the thorn-points bleed.—
Wilt thou not trust me till the victory's thine?
I at thy feet, love, and the world at mine.