Of morning, I’ve no serious wrong!
The truth will flame abroad ere long.
Their teeth shall bite the dust to-day,
A soldier’s grave can sing a lay
Of praise, while foibles dare not peep,
And those who twisted foibles sleep
Forgotten. They suppose I shrink
From death as they do. As they think
They judge me. Open your sweet jaws,
Brave death, and swallowing petty flaws,