Classic Poem

WHEREIN THE EXILE CONSIDERS HIS FRIENDS

The more my own poor wishes would commend me
To turn my steps to you, sweet friends, this hour
In the severe shape of some blinding Power
The more prevents and drives me; and, to bend me,
Though I fling forth my whole heart; and, to end me,
Fortune works snare and spell: but still its tower
My heart builds in your hearts, its green sweet bower
With you where vale and sea would once befriend me —
Our sea which twisted right when I turned left —
I, by grim duress dragged to slavery,
It, with Love's guidance led to liberty;
But patience ministers to souls bereft:
Old habits, of necessity, enforce
Between us rare and rapid intercourse.