From The Washington Herald, April 20, 1914. By John Kendrick Bangs.

I keep a special cell for pain
Here in my brain
And there,
Dark days or fair,
I let it lie forgotten and alone
To feed on its own moan;
And then, when all its power to sting is gone,
I open the door of memory again
And let it pass along the road
To some less chill abode;
And strange to say,
Sometimes when poor old pain has gone away,
I find, long after his retreat,
The later memory of him is sweet,
And in my soul a greater strength appears
For that I once in days that were
Held Pain a Prisoner.