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Milfoil, Common. 
WAR. 
Oh, war! war! war! 
Thou false baptized, who by thy vaunted name 
Of glory stealest o’er the ear of man 
To rive his bosom with thy thousand darts, 
Disrobed of pomp and circumstance, stand forth, 
And show thy written league with sin and death. 
Yes, ere Ambition’s heart is seared and sold, 
And desolated, bid him mark thine end, 
And count thy wages. 
The proud victor’s plume, 
The hero’s trophied fame, the warrior’s wreath 
Of blood-dashed laurel, — what will these avail 
The spirit parting from material things ? 
One slender leaflet from the tree of peace, 
Borne dove-like, o’er the waste and warring earth, 
Is better passport at the gate of Heaven. 
Mrs. SIGOURNEY. 


