The fierce but unfair battle between physical might and the intellect with the vain hope that the latter will come out victorious.
When all of you go riot With bayonet, rifle and on chariot, Seeking, at the same time, for attention, You put me in no little tension. My confidence in the test tube And the microscope’s goggle looking so crude, Provide the thin defence line, Like a brood of swines on wine Against your ghastly legion. Even the elementals that that saw me blossom Now turn to me their rear region: They pull back when I seek their bosom.
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