Mine is a race of martyrs. I can trace
Ancestors by the score who laid their heads
Upon the axman's block. It is a little way
We have. Why should I care to flaunt
My feathered beauty on a bare November bough?
I shall appear again in a far richer dressing.
In years to come it will be said of me,
As of my ancestors, that nothing in my life
Shed so much glory as the leaving of it.
Full many a little child that now