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The Old Stoic
par
Emily Brontë
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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
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