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Lo! Victress on the Peaks!
Lo! Victress on the peaks!
Where thou, with mighty brow, regarding the world,
(The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against
thee;)
Out of its countless, beleaguering toils, after thwarting
them all;)
Dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee,
Flauntest now unharm'd, in immortal soundness and
bloom—lo! in these hours supreme,
No poem proud, I, chanting, bring to thee—nor mastery's
rapturous verse;
But a book, containing night's darkness, and blood-
dripping wounds,
And psalms of the dead.