As one who long hath fled with panting breath Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall, I turn and set my back against the wall, And look thee in the face, triumphant Death, I call for aid, and no one answereth; I am alone with thee, who conquerest all; Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall, For thou art but a phantom and a wraith. Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt, With armor shattered, and without a shield, I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt; I can resist no more, but will not yield. This is no tournament where cowards tilt; The vanquished here is victor of the field. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEAWEED by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL by PUBLIUS AELIUS HADRIANUS FOUR LITTLE FOXES by LEW SARETT A SLUMBER SONG by A. HOLCOMBE AIKEN A PRAYER FOR THE NEW YEAR by LAURA F. ARMITAGE SEA BUTTERFLIES by DON BLANDING SIR W. TRELOAR'S DINNER FOR CRIPPLED CHILDREN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |