 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
177
DESPERATION
My days all are wasted in vainly
Contesting the field against Fate;
My nights with remorses insanely
Are swarming, and spectres of hate.
Contesting the field against Fate;
My nights with remorses insanely
Are swarming, and spectres of hate.
“O for rest! O for peace!” I cry madly—
“Let me fall, for I faint in the strife.
To be dead, to be dead, I'd give gladly
All, all that I have, except life.”
“Let me fall, for I faint in the strife.
To be dead, to be dead, I'd give gladly
All, all that I have, except life.”
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |