Classic Poem

I told my problem to the gracious priest,
Seeking solution eagerly essayed:
Aghast he murmured, " Heresy! " and prayed
For my redemption. He, of all men, least
Could cure the need his medicine increased;
His pilgrim scrip contained for me no aid
Along my untrod way, and he, afraid
Of onward steps, recoiled. — Ghosts which had ceased
Long since to haunt the cloisters of my brain,
Thence exorcised, through timorous years had grown
To him more direful, — ghosts and shadows vain!
My soul's Apollyons were to him unknown;
My struggles were his grief, his grief my pain;
I thanked his prayer and went my way alone.