English poem
XXIX.
by Jean Ingelow
I have been a witch's prey, Art mine enemy now by day, Thou fell Fear? There comes an end To the day; thou canst not wend After me where I shall fare, My foredoomèd peace to share. And awake with a better heart, I shall meet thee and take my part O' the dull world's dull spite; with thine Hard will I strive for me and mine.'