Page:The ascent of man by Blind, Mathilde.djvu/25

 Where still the strongest slay and win, Where weakness is the only sin.

There is no truce to this drawn battle,
 * Which ends but to begin again;

The drip of blood, the hoarse death-rattle,
 * The roar of rage, the shriek of pain,

Are rife in fairest grove and dell, Turning earth's flowery haunts to hell.

A hell of hunger, hatred, lust,
 * Which goads all creatures here below,

Or blindworm wriggling in the dust,
 * Or penguin in the Polar snow:

A hell where there is none to save, Where life is life's insatiate grave.

And in the long portentous strife,
 * Where types are tried even as by fire,

Where life is whetted upon life
 * And step by panting step mounts higher,