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Poem	AH poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats! Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me! (For what is my life, or any man’s life, but a conflict with foes—the old, the incessant war?) You degradations—you tussle with passions and appetites; You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all;) You toil of painful and choked articulations—you meannesses; You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;) You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother’d ennuis; Ah, think not you finally triumph—My real self has yet to come forth; It shall yet march forth o’ermastering, till all lies beneath me; It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestion’d victory.
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