But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant. - William Wordsworth

Therefore, let the moon shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty-mountain winds be free to blow against thee.

O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!

Such seem'd this Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep; in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in their pilgrimage; As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.