The old stoic

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 I 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,

'T is all that I implore:

In life and death a chainless soul,

With courage to endure.