“I crawled. I could not speak or see
Save dimly. The ice glared like fire,
A long bright Hell of choking cold,
And each vein was a tautened wire,
Throbbing with torture — and I crawled.
My hands were wounds.
So I attained
The second Hell.”

Source: Young Adventure (1918), The Quality of Courage

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Stephen Vincent Benét 102
poet, short story writer, novelist 1898–1943

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