Others, I am not the first, 
Have willed more mischief than they durst: 
If in the breathless night I too 
Shiver now, 'tis nothing new. 

More than I, if truth were told, 
Have stood and sweated hot and cold, 
And through their reins in ice and fire 
Fear contended with desire. 

Agued once like me were they, 
But I like them shall win my way 
Lastly to the bed of mould 
Where there's neither heat nor cold. 

But from my grave across my brow 
Plays no wind of healing now, 
And fire and ice within me fight 
Beneath the suffocating night.