[poet] the old stoic

The Old Stoic
by Emily Brontë

Riches I hold in light esteem,
 And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dream,
 That vanished with the 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.