Deep in my heart that aches with the repression,
    And strives with plenitude of bitter pain,
There lives a thought that clamors for expression,
    And spends its undelivered force in vain.

What boots it that some other may have thought it?
    The right of thoughts’ expression is divine;
The price of pain I pay for it has bought it,
    I care not who lays claim to it —‘t is mine!

And yet not mine until it be delivered;
    The manner of its birth shall prove the test.
Alas, alas, my rock of pride is shivered—
    I beat my brow—the thought still unexpressed.