A nation’s accolade be thine—
O gallant Fifty-first!
The Dead Letter.
There, now! I’ve read your letter through
Three times; I’ll read it once again
If you say so; it rests with you.[2]
What? loan you paper, ink and pen?
Why, man you’re weaker than a child.
To-morrow I will gladly write
Whate’er you wish. Be reconciled,[3]