Charity
George Parsons Lathrop
I Unarmed she goeth; yet her hands Strike deeper awe than steel-caparison’d bands. No fatal hurt of foe she fears,— Veiled, as with mail, in mist of gentle tears. II ‘Gainst her thou canst not bar the door: Like air she enters, where none dared before. Even to the rich she can forgive Their regal selfishness,—and let them live!
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