Ah Poverties, Wincings and Sulky Retreats. by Walt Whitman
AH poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats!
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me!
(For what is my life, or any manâ€™s life, but a conflict with foesâ€”the old, the
You degradationsâ€”you tussle with passions and appetites;
You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all;)
You toil of painful and choked articulationsâ€”you meannesses;
You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;)
You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smotherâ€™d ennuis;
Ah, think not you finally triumphâ€”My real self has yet to come forth;
It shall yet march forth oâ€™ermastering, till all lies beneath me;
It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestionâ€™d victory.