Classic Poem

The halls are full of strangers;
Each lies alone and pain
Doth bind each one with his red chain.

They think not of each other—
Their pain looms mountain-high:
It towers o'er the void where they lie.

I've longed to see their faces,
For then I might forget
In what hard ways my feet are set.

The hard ways of that bondage,
Do they too know them all?
Strangers—I stumble there and fall!