AH poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats!
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me!
(For what is my life, or any mans life, but a conflict with foesthe old, the
incessant
war?)
You degradationsyou tussle with passions and appetites;
You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all;)
You toil of painful and choked articulationsyou meannesses;
You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;)
You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smotherd ennuis;
Ah, think not you finally triumphMy real self has yet to come forth;
It shall yet march forth oermastering, till all lies beneath me;
It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestiond victory.
Ah Poverties, Wincings and Sulky Retreats.
written byWalt Whitman
© Walt Whitman