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    To a Photograper
    by Breton Braley

    I have known love and hate and work and fight;
        I have lived largely, I have dreamed and planned,
        And time, the Sculptor, with a master hand
    Has graven on my face for all men's sight
    Deep lines of joy and sorrow, growth and blight
        Of labor and of service and command
        --And now you show me this, this waxen, bland
    And placid face, unlined, unwrinkled, white.

    This is not I--this fatuous thing you show,
        Retouched and smoothed and prettified to please,
    Put back the wrinkles and lines I know;
        I have spent blood and tears achieving these,
    Out of the pain, the struggle and the wrack
    These are my scars of battle--put them back!

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