Of those I love, looking to me for bread
Pierce me like eagles’ beaks through very love.
I am Prometheus bound; these cares and fears
Tear at my vitals, leave me broken, spent.
And unavailingly ’tis spent, my life,
My wondrous life, so pregnant with rich powers.
That stuff in me from which heroic deeds,
Great thoughts and noble poems might be made
Is wrenched from me, is coined in wealth, and spent
By others; save that I and mine receive