Victor

I want to give myself to life,
      To spend me like a fire;
I want to burn my blood away
      In pity and desire.
I want to drain myself for love,
      To wear me out with stress
Till none of me is left but bones
      For cheated death to press.
And when the spring comes round again
      I shall be victor still:
My bones shall feed the grasses,
      And bloom, a daffodil.