Classic Poem

I have not won the light from freedom's courses,
Nor from my father's part
Came it to me; 'tis hewn from crags of mine,
I carved it from my heart.

One spark is hid in the fortress of my heart,
So small, but mine alone;
I asked it of no man, I stole it not,
'Tis in me, and my own.

And when my heart is broken 'neath the hammer
Of torments and their curse,
This spark wings out, flies up into my eyes,
And thence into my verse.

And from these lines 'twill fly up to your heart,
In the brightness of your fire
That I have kindled it will hide, and I
With my blood shall feed the pyre.