Brook Of Sanguinetto, - Poem by John Kenyon
NEAR THE LAKE OF THRASYMENE.
We win, where least we care to strive;
And where the most we strive—we miss.
Old Hannibal, if now alive,
Might sadly testify to this.
He lost the Rome, for which he came;
And—what he never had in petto—
Won for this little brook a name—
Its mournful name of Sanguinetto.
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