Imprisoned ’mid the iron bars of forms. I have no hope of happiness in life, That is not bound up with the mighty past. The present is a Hell—the future, dark. Earth’s comforters are for the happy few. No denizen am I. I stand alone. Alone, for judgment? Stormy and wild my passions—full of sins, Grievous and bitter. Who shall succor me? I looked to love—I found it hollowness. I looked to hate—I found it bitterness. Unto ambition—and it smiled upon me But to elude my grasp:—unto a future, My stubborn heart refuses its belief. I have not learned deceit, nor schooled myself To be a hypocrite. What I am, I am! The secret sin of man—Hypocrisy— Can never mate with me: Would that it could. Wer’t so, I would not suffer as I must. Could I but veil myself thus from men’s eyes, And seem the thing I am not, I might live Happier in this world’s love. But let that pass. I will not bend my knee, or lose one spark Of Heaven’s heritage—my manhood’s truth— But trample on the vampires of the world, Who fatten on the blood of noble things. What though the strife’s unequal? Let me fall, Strong in my ruined hopes; the shrine profaned Within the inner temple, is to me Dearer than all now opened to my soul; So let me die with prayer upon my lips, And like old Israel’s stricken one, pull down A glorious desolation in my fall! Wild are my thoughts, oh God! And wilder still the passionate heart that beats With a fallen angel’s power. There liveth not Among earth’s myriads, a more restless spirit, So formed for good or ill! I have been gentle, Loving and kind to all. My curse has been To feel the unkind thought—to doubt all truth— Of woman and of man. Naught’s left me now But shaken confidence and cheated hopes, A long and drear account to be repaid With interest manifold. The restless fire That has preyed upon my brain, and blasted life— Destroyed my peace, and made me stern and strong As the avenging fury, must recoil Upon the heads of those whose path has been In triumph o’er my heart. Shall I then spare? Who spared me where I trusted most? Whose hand Clasped firmly mine? Speak! whose kind word, When sorrow was upon me, came unto me, As it should come, in peace, and bid me hope? The butterflies that thronged around my steps, But to fly from me when the sun went down? I think of them, not to give blow for blow, But to tramp out their false hearts ’neath my heel. They left a sting behind—but yet I live! Ay! they shall feel I live. Their loss was naught. The serpent’s tooth was nearer to my heart That tortured me to madness. I had loved; Thou knowest it. Call it love—idolatry! For it was my religion. All but that— Power, wealth and friends—I could have lost, Hadst thou but trustfully still kept thy vow, Calming the raging fever of my brain!