Prospice

Fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat,
         The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
         I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
         The post of the foe;
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
         Yet the strong man must go:
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
         And the barriers fall,
Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
         The reward of it all.

-Robert Browning,Prospice,1864