Behind the prison bars of mind, There is a caged thing in my breast, A numb and hungry thing that beats -- I cannot let it stop to rest. We are two wanderers alone, My heart and I -- my soul is dead! It could not live in poverty. It had to have its shrine and God, A prayer, a bird-song overheard. In vain I tried to catch and hold The beautiful for which I cried; But eyes which are so hunger filled Are blind. Far better that it died. Upon the midnight city street, We walk and feel the beating rain; An old man passed with halting steps, My heart is beating with his cane. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WAITING - BOTH by THOMAS HARDY THE BELLS OF LYNN; HEARD AT NAHANT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA by HENRY WOTTON TO ONE WHO ASKED by KENNETH SLADE ALLING EPITHALAMIUM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE LAST MAN: INSIGNIFICANCE OF THE WORLD by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |