My heart is but a tomb, where vain and cold
My dead hopes lie: encoffin'd there my Pride
Lies dead, and my Life's Gladness crucified,
And there my Morning Joy long turn'd to mould;
And there like once-lov'd corpses dead and old
My Victory that long long since hath died,
And all my Hopes lie shrouded side by side,
For whom no eyes have wept, no dirges toll'd.
And there insensate on the darken'd floor
Despair a maniac still doth howl and scream,
Among all these long dead alive alone;
Among these things I sit upon a throne,
In endless contemplation evermore;
Nor these suffice to break my iron dream.