XV. ‘How oft the traitor trumpet sounds retreat’
How oft the traitor trumpet sounds retreat,
Beguiling my bewildered soul again,
When all the forces on the battle-plain
Are ready to do homage at my feet;
And when I fight with strength, it is in vain,
For then I find no foe before my eyes,
They lurk in shadow, waiting to surprise
My soul when it is weary and in pain.
How shall I gauge the conflict and the odds,
Misled and blinded in the midst of strife?
How shall I know mine enemy? O gods,
Grant me one moment worthy of my life,
To see at last beyond the dust and shade,
And face real foemen, strong and unafraid.
