To flee no more from fear at last,
To hug the dagger that ends the race.
“For I have died a thousandfold,
Stabbed have I been by a million blades,
’Tis worse than death to see the gold
That crowns the heads of living maids,
“To see and know that mine I slew,
So that nevermore might she greet the day,—
In all my life hath no man been true,