Tis true my garments threadbare are, And sorry poor I seem; But inly I am richer far. Than any poet's dream. For I've a hidden life no one. Can ever hope to see; A sacred sanctuary none. May share with me. Aloof I stand from out the strife, Within my heart a song; By virtue of my inner life. I to myself belong. Against man-ruling I rebel, Yet do not fear defeat, For to my secret citadel. I may retreat. Oh you who have an inner life. Beyond this dismal day. With wars and evil rumours rife, Go blessedly your way. Your refuge hold inviolate; Unto yourself be true, And shield serene from sordid fate. The Real You.
Robert W. ServiceAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: scottish
- Born: January 16, 1874
- Died: September 11, 1958
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