Munch-Petersen, Gustaf Uddrag fra my evening has come

I could never be conquered -
I was always the victor -
here I sit -
with my legs crossed, looking
with far-off eyes into my own fire -
outside the tent
the hatred goes on whispering -
to night I shall be murdered -
I -, the victor -,
I who couldn't be conquered -
my unpierceable quietude embraces everything
like the first mother -
here I sit -
with my tent around me -
my evening has come -