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!"
Yea, as my swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore:
In life and death a chinless soul.
With courage to endure.



                                      Emily Brontë (1818-1848)