Patience! Hence—that word was made For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey; Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine,— I am not of thine order. - Lord Byron

My slumbers — if I slumber — are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.

Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones,
Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones.

In quiet we had learn'd to dwell-
Myvery chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends-
To make us what we are:-even I
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.