 | Poems (1892) |  |
II.
My body in the walls captivedFeels not the wounds of spiteful envy;
But my thralled mind, of liberty deprived,
Fast fettered in her ancient memory,
Doth nought behold but sorrow's dying face:
Such prison erst was so delightful,
As it desired no other dwelling place:
But time's effects and destinies despiteful
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Love's fire and beauty's light I then had store;
But now, close kept, as captives wonted are,
That food, that heat, that light, I find no more.
Despair bolts up my doors; and I alone
Speak to dead walls; but those hear not my moan.
| Poems (1892) | |