Classic Poem

My heart has made a slave of me
By love's device and friendship's smile;
I doubt the day, I dread the night,
I quake at every sound and sight—
So lost am I—ah, woe the while!
I pine not for my liberty.

Through frost and heat, through damp and dust,
I tread one steep and stony course;
Or if I turn and ease my load
To pluck some blossom by the road,
Swift fall the lashes of remorse;
My heart permits no lapse of trust.

My heart has lotted me to bear
The weight of many destinies;
Fast-linked to other lives, I feel
The pulses of their woe and weal,
And countless watchful sympathies
Make my existence one long care.

O nights of cold, prophetic fears!
O days of ripened misery!
Your bitterness I have not known
For pangs or perils of my own;
My heart has laid your load on me,
And love has cankered all my years.

Yet fortune has no gift for me
That I would barter for these pains;
I claim no ease, I ask no rest,
But count myself supremely blest
If I may pass my days in chains,
And die in this dear slavery.