WHEREIN SELF-BANISHMENT AFFORDS NO RETREAT FROM ENVY

Since pity is a barred and bolted door,
And paths as pitiless our lives divide,
Obscuring her from me, the unsatisfied
And all but unrewarded servitor,
My heart on sighs I nourish and restore,
With the black bread of anguish well supplied;
Yet those that see me spent and hollow-eyed
Guess not the sweetness at the sorrow's core.
Your portrait, where mine eyes obtain sole peace,
No Zeuxis pencilled nor Praxiteles,
But a hand bolder, with more skill contrived.
What coast can shelter or what distance shield,
If, by my bitter exile still unshrived,
Ravenous Envy tracks me here concealed?