Vain were the battle, if a warrior, having slain his foes,
Shall turn and find them vital still, unharmed, yea, unashamed:
For Error, dark magician, daily cast out killed,
Quickeneth animate anew beneath the midnight moon:
Once and again, once and again, hath reason answered wisely;
But not the less with brazen front doth folly urge her questions.
It were but unprofitable toil, a stand-up fight with unbelief:
When was there candour in a caviller, and who can satisfy the faithless?
Too long, O truant from the fold, have I tracked thy devious paths;
Too long, treacherous deserter, fought thee as a noble foeman: