Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward.

My whole life was a contest, since the day

That gave me being, gave me that which marred

The gift,—a fate, or will, that walked astray;[86]

And I at times have found the struggle hard,

And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay:

But now I fain would for a time survive,

If but to see what next can well arrive.