Classic Poem

Unhappiest of eunuchs, thou
Who, that thy sultan safe may sleep,
A God-accursed page, canst bow
O'er freemen's lips thy watch to keep!

My simple word hast thou condemned,
For your vile kitchen all too free;—
Hath, then, this heart less freely flamed,
Less freely hated him and thee?

Think not the soul is in its grave,
When limb from limb thy power hath torn!
Thou dost but snuff the wick, thou slave,
That so the light may brighter burn!