THE CAGE
Reading edition
Why did you flutter in vain hope, poor bird, Hard-pressed in your small cage of clay? 'Twas but a sweet, false echo that you heard, Caught only a feint of day.
Still is the night all dark, a homeless dark. Burn yet the unanswering stars. And silence brings The same sea's desolate surge—sans bound or mark— Of all your wanderings.
Fret now no more; be still. Those steadfast eyes, Those folded hands, they cannot set you free; Only with beauty wake wild memories— Sorrow for where you are, for where you would be.