They, they might boast—we hundred swords or so
Set on the mighty Tannhäuser, and slew him.
We, scarce an hundred! Yes, believe it, sirs
We are not so feeble!—But death anyhow
Cuts and not loosens the entangled life.
Be mine the harder and the better way,
The single chance: not hope; appeal no more;
Hardly the arrowy wisdom of despair;
Hardly the cowardice or courage yet
To drift, nor cursing nor invoking God.