Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Victor and Vanquished

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