Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself hath said
This is not my own penned poem
Whose heart hath never burnt with truth
For him no minstrel raptures well
High though his genious, power, or pelf
Doubly dying shall go down
To the vile ban hammer
Unwept, unhonored, unsung
[Trying to remember from HSC, about 3 decades ago. Damn, I remembered most of it]
Apologies to Sir Walter Scott.
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