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The Old Stoic
( EMILY JANE BRONTE, 1840)
Riches I hold in light esteem, And love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream That vanish’d with the morn: And if pray the only prayer That moves my lips for me Is, “Leave the heart that now I bear, And give me liberty!” Yes, as my swift days near their goal, “Tis all that I implore; In life and death a chainless soul, With courage to endure |
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