Classic Poem

When last the moon was slim I saw Fate loom
Athwart my path, lowering, malevolent;
The earth was black with blood where his feet went;
His brow was harrowed by the wrath of doom.
Shrouding my future in his ghastly gloom,
To his dæmonic will my will be bent;
And I knew then what is the punishment
Of lost souls shuddering in their trap-like tomb.

Now all is changed! Breezes of hill and sea
Have blown to ribbons that old scarecrow “Fate”;
Brooks brawling past my knees, precipitate,
Have brawled their verve into the marrow of me.
Nor care I now what foes my steps await.
I close with life; I am vowed to victory.