There is no hope, and yet I keep on fighting. There is no chance, and yet I fight the more. Fate's holocaust is loosed against me, blighting My dream of triumph that I held of yore; Sick am I, sick unto the very core Of heavy wrongs there is no way of righting. Yea, I am weary of the battle roar Beneath black skies no sun is ever lighting. I see no gleam of victory alluring, No chance of splendid booty or of gain; If I endure I must go on enduring And my reward for bearing pain—is pain; Yet, though the hope, the thrill, the zest are gone, Something within me keeps me fighting on! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SUBALTERNS by THOMAS HARDY TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: AZRAEL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BREAK OF DAY IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG TO SPAIN - A LAST WORD by EDITH MATILDA THOMAS CHRISTMAS EPITHALAMIUM by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. INVITED GUESTS by FRANCES EKIN ALLISON |