(1895-1961 / East Orange, New Jersey)

XV. 'How oft the traitor trumpet sounds retreat'

How oft the traitor trumpet sounds retreat,
Beguiling my bewildered soul again,
When all the forces on the battle-plain
Are ready to do homage at my feet;
And when I fight with strength, it is in vain,
For then I find no foe before my eyes,
They lurk in shadow, waiting to surprise
My soul when it is weary and in pain.

How shall I gauge the conflict and the odds,
Misled and blinded in the midst of strife?
How shall I know mine enemy? O gods,
Grant me one moment worthy of my life,
To see at last beyond the dust and shade,
And face real foemen, strong and unafraid.

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