My pride I shield, though love may pull,
Let longing dream what it seeks to fulfill.
Though my heart bleeds, heavy and full,
And words are coughed from a bitter chill.
My honor is ancient, a rooted will,
My glory refuses to bow or kneel.
To plead is a vice, a void to fill,
No use in craving g a a heart made of steel.
For the path of the soul is a sacred hill,
A loftier grace, and a grander thrill.