Classic Poem

I am not hot (unless the ice be hot:)
I am not cold (unless the fire be so:)
I am no Celt (or Celts say I am not:)
I am no Saxon, that at least I know!
Poet am I? Then why this dumb dismay?
Or Jumbo? Then whence comes my pain?
I am in love? But yet when she's away
'Tis true I seldom wish her back again.
— Oh pity, pity him who in between
Pursues with leaden foot the leaden mean!