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And men by time made wise shall in the future see
No name hath risen, or e'er shall rise, like the name of Robert Lee.
Dead! but his spirit breathes! Dead! but his heart is ours!
Dead! but his sunny, sad land wreathes his crown with tears of flowers.
But he has a thousand graves, in a thousand hearts, I ween,
And teardrops fall from our eyes in waves that will keep his memory green.
Ah! muse, you dare not claim a nobler man than he.
Nor nobler man hath less of blame,
Nor blameless man has purer name,
Nor purer name hath grander fame,
Nor fame—another Lee.

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