Now naught is left in life’s dim course for me—
All sweetness gone, pure nowt, no grace remains;
What joy is there when weary eyes must see

I gave my all and pushed it to the edge,

My heart and soul now battle-scarred and numb;

‘Gainst rising wrath, I raised an armored hedge

And laid in siege of better days to come;

But no detente, and surely no retreat,

Though long my urge to cast the gauntlet down —

Better here sweet death than sour defeat,

Wherein black fields more bitter blood is sown.

So mighty titans did in combat rage:

No loss; no win; destruction but their gauge.