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The Death of the Scharnhorst, and Other Poems

I WATCHED HIM IN THE TOURNAMENT

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I watched him in the tournament, And when he bowled a line I saw the way his eyes would smile When things were going fine. I saw the lonely little frown That made him look so grave And older than his twenty years When things would not behave. And then we did not meet again; I heard that he was dead. The savage sea, not you nor me, Knows where he is instead.

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