Classic Poem

My house is poor; those that I love have left me.
My body is sick; I cannot join the feast.
There is not a living soul before my eyes
As I lie alone locked in my cottage room
My broken lamp burns with a feeble flame;
My tattered curtains are crooked and do not meet.
" Tsek, tsek " on the door-step and window-sill
Again I hear the new snow fall
As I grow older, gradually I sleep less;
I wake at midnight and sit up straight in bed.
If I had not learned the " art of sitting and forgetting, "
How could I bear this utter loneliness?
Stiff and stark my body cleaves to the earth;
Unimpeded my soul yields to Change
So has it been for four tedious years,
Through one thousand and three hundred nights!