At Least We Tried by Paul

It’s not the critic that counts,
Nor the one, who tells how the strong man stumbled,
Or, how the doer of deeds failed,
But it is he, who is in the arena,
He who can taste the blood in his mouth,
And feel the sweat stinging his eyes,
And he knows that if he strives now he may win valiantly,
And if he loses, he knows he has given his all,
And will never be with those poor souls,
Who never even try.