THE OLD STOIC

by: Emily Brontë (1818-1848)

ICHES I hold in light esteem,

And Love I laugh to scorn;

And lust of fame was but a dream

That vanish'd 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!'

 

Yea, as my swift days near their goal,

'Tis all that I implore:

In life and death a chainless soul,

With courage to endure.

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