Classic Poem

There is no place at all by night or day,
Where I—who am of that hard tyrant Thought
The slave—can find security in aught,
But He, almighty, reaching me, doth lay
His hand upon me there, so rough a way
Assaulting me,—however I am caught,
Walking or standing still—that for support
I sometimes lean on anything I may:
Then when he hath me, ease is none from him
Till he do out his strength with me; cold sweat
Comes o'er my body and on every limb;
My arm falls weak as from a fierce embrace;
And, ere he leaveth me, he will have set
A great eternal mark upon my face.