Ah Poverties, Wincings and Sulky Retreats by Walt Whitman

AH poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats!
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me!
(For what is my life, or any man’s life, but a conflict with foes—the old, the
incessant
war?)
You degradations—you tussle with passions and appetites;
You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all;)
You toil of painful and choked articulations—you meannesses;
You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;)
You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother’d ennuis;
Ah, think not you finally triumph—My real self has yet to come forth;
It shall yet march forth o’ermastering, till all lies beneath me;
It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestion’d victory.

by Walt Whitman

Other poems by 'Walt Whitman'

Walt Whitman.

Song at Sunset.

Ashes of Soldiers.

Thoughts.

Tears.

I Hear America Singing.

When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d.

To Foreign Lands.

Adieu to a Soldier.

In Midnight Sleep.

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