As one who long hath fled with panting breath br Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall, br I turn and set my back against the wall, br And look thee in the face, triumphant Death, br I call for aid, and no one answereth; br I am alone with thee, who conquerest all; br Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall, br For thou art but a phantom and a wraith. br Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt, br With armor shattered, and without a shield, br I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt; br I can resist no more, but will not yield. br This is no tournament where cowards tilt; br The vanquished here is victor of the field.