O sweet success, fragrance of nectar,
So many flowery moments got
Themselves killed for these clappings far,
Wined throats now celebrate a lot.
Suppose the flowers had lost for vain,
And bad fumes cometh out of the passioned flame,
That single bent head had bore pain,
Too many pocked noses had sought blame.
Aye! What one standth to lose or gain?
From the mob which gulps only by the name;–
Benumbed by victory; failure maketh insane;
One’s abhorred content changed there to lusty fame.
Thus the story of success-failure goes,
Prickles too many for a single rose.
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