SINGLY we fight against enormous odds, -- Dulness, and Cowardice, and Fate, and Chance, And the wild bowman, purblind Ignorance, And heaven with all its lazy brood of gods; How, then, above the congregated clods, Can one man rise, and out of clay advance, Alone, against the sleepless countenance Of that huge Argus-host that never nods? So must we fall upon the fields of life, And bleed, and die? Nay, rather let us twain, Marching abreast, against that army move, Each harnessing the other for the strife, -- You with my will for helmet, and my brain For sword, while I for buckler bear your love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS RETURNED FROM THE WAR by HENRY ABBEY A WINTRY LULLABY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA VERSES WRITTEN IN AN ALCOVE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: MAN'S GUARD AGAINST DEATH by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES WHIGS AND TORIES by WILLIAM BROWNE (1692-1774) THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: MORNING AND MEETING by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |