A Poem

This is one of several poems I finished writing recently:

I do not mind the rain,
When the cold is kept away.
If the gravel cuts my feet--
With shoes, I could not say.

The harshest winter storm
Comes to nothing by the fire.
And a disconsolate mood,
Is sweetened by the lyre.

Let no lyre play, then.
And let no fire blaze.
Let no kind amenity,
Soften my malaise.

Strike me with adversity,
And crush me under heel.
Spare me no affliction,
Set my life a-reel.

For what virtue's come of pampering?
Whate'er wisdom came of peace?
Tell me what great adventure
Did not some miseries increase?

None may claim of bravery,
Lacking cowardice for foe;
In every act of charity,
'Tis contingent there be woe.

No principle of character
Was ever proved by benediction,
Nor righteous acts affirmed,
Without a harsh affliction.

So let other men endure
That frightful curse of peace.
For myself I can only hope,
That my troubles never cease.