They wage a battle for some gains,
And for their profit take much pains--
But I would go against the grain
And follow not upon their trains.
Make they some deal, upon that lane
Well-traveled that the heart disdain,
My heart as doth vaguely deplore it
Yet hearkens to the Muses’ strain.
’Tis no accountancy to score it,
No ledger as was fashioned for it
Wherein to balance red with black--
And had there been a page, I tore it!
Yet, underneath their fierce attack
I lose and lose; am beaten back;
And as my blood but leaks and drains
It seems my world is out of whack.