Poems (Cromwell)/The Weakling
THE WEAKLING
Confined within the walls of a grey world, And never from that iron realm allowed, My powers were wasted; I was broken, bowed: Throughout the years my strength and will were furled. But later, when the force of time had hurled All barriers down, released me from the cloud That held my spirit, left me free, endowed With latitudes of love, my spirit whirled Bewildered round itself. In that dear field I had not strength nor will to stand revealed, Nor claim deliverance. Self-pity drewMe to my doom. I was beset anew; I was afraid—afraid that love would see What all those iron years had done to me.