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Some day the soft Ideal that we wooed confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, and cries reproachful: ''Was it then my praise, and not myself was loved? Prove now thy truth; I claim of thee the promise of thy youth.''
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Some day the soft Ideal that we wooed confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, and cries reproachful: ''Was it then my praise, and not myself was loved? Prove now thy truth; I claim of thee the promise of thy youth.'' by : James Russell Lowell