The Weakling

Confined within the walls of a grey world,And never from that iron realm allowed,My powers were wasted; I was broken, bowed:Throughout the years my strength and will were furled.But later, when the force of time had hurledAll barriers down, released me from the cloudThat held my spirit, left me free, endowedWith latitudes of love, my spirit whirledBewildered round itself. In that dear fieldI had not strength nor will to stand revealed,Nor claim deliverance. Self-pity drewMe to my doom. I was beset anew;I was afraid—afraid that love would seeWhat all those iron years had done to me.