Classic Poem

To Pain

Not by the minutes of thin torture spun,
Not by the nights whose hours halt and slip back,
Not by the days when golden noon turns black
Hast thou dismayed me; but that, one by one,
Pale shadows pass me of my tasks undone,
While, like a victim loosed from wheel and rack,
With will unnerved, breath scant and sinew slack,
I droop, where glad folk labour in the sun.
And yet, O winged Inquisitor, return,
Stay, though I cringe and cry and plead for grace,
If thou hast more to teach, still would I learn;
I choose, even with faint heart and quivering lip,
Some place in the great, patient fellowship
Of those that know the light upon thy face.English