Explore "Big Words" by Robert Graves on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I've whined of coming death, but now, no more! / It's weak and most ungracious. For, say I, / Though still a boy if years are counted, why! / I've lived those years from roof to cellar-floor, / And feel, like grey-beards touching their fourscore, / Ready, so soon as the need comes, to die: / And I'm satisfied. / For winning confidence in those quiet days / Of peace, poised sickly on the precipice side / Of Lliwedd crag by Snowdon, and in war / Finding it firmlier with me than before; / Winning a faith in the wisdom of God's ways / That once I lost, finding it justified / Even in this chaos; winning love that stays / And warms the heart like wine at Easter-tide; / Having earlier tried / False loves in plenty; oh! my cup of praise / Brims over, and I know I'll feel small sorrow, / Confess no sins and make no weak delays / If death ends all and I must die to-morrow."
But on the firestep, waiting to attack, / He cursed, prayed, sweated, wished the proud words back.