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 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
151
“GRAFT”
Cuba, our pupil, let thy glory shine—Our own is brighter, but effulgent thine!
Lately thine arms struck terror to the foe,
And now thy hands bring treasuries to woe!
Daughter of Terrors, Mother of Alarms,
Courage himself may fly before thine arms;
But O, what thing escapes, what thing withstands,
The power of those comprehensive hands?
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |