Classic Poem

I DO not grieve that I am here alone;
Nor grieve I for what 's done. Could I now will
That Time might tread his weary footsteps back,
And earth grow bright again, I would not hav 't.
What use? What end? My soul again would welcome
Her terrible choice: Again would I, undismayed,
Wed my dark fortune—live in ghastly dreams;
Rather than bear the weight of beggary,
The curse of hunger,—toil, contempt, and shame,
And die, at last,—a felon, or a slave.