English poem
Viii
by R. D. Blackmore (1825–1900)
"For me, what home, what hope is left? What difference of good or ill? Of all I ever loved bereft, Disgraced, discarded, outlawed still, For one small theft!
"I sicken of my skill and pride; I work, without a bit of caring. The world is waste, the world is wide; Why make good things, with no one sharing Them at my side?
"What matters how I dwell, or die? Away with such a niggard life! The Lord hath robbed me of my wife; And life is only I.