THE soul is like a homing bird that's sure To wing its way to the beloved place; Above the sea or land, through air more pure Than mortal breathes, it cleaves the tracts of space, Steered by a yearning wonderful, elate To reach the native loft, the lonesome mate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUTUMN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE HILLS WERE MADE FOR FREEDOM by WILLIAM GOLDSMITH BROWN THE MERRIMAC by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER HYMNE (TO BE SUNG WITH THREE VOICES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT SONNET: ONE NEW YEAR'S EVE by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON SPRING IN TOWN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT AFTER RAIN by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN |