The old Stoic

Riches I hold in ligth esteem,
imgresAnd lust of fame was but a dream
That vanished with te morn.
And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me is,
“Leave the heart that now I bear,
And give me liberty”

Yes, as my swift days near their goal,
‘tis all that I implore’
In life and death, a chainless soul,
With courage to endure

Uit ‘Poems of Solitude’ van Emily Brontë

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