The Old Stoic, by Emily Bronte

The Old Stoic, by Emily Bronte. Some may quibble that this or that part of the poem fails to fit their conception of Stoicism. No matter. Just enjoy the poem:

Riches I hold in light esteem;
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dream
That vanished 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,
'Tis all that I implore;
In life and death, a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.