Thinking of my caged birds indoors, My books, whose music serves my will; Which, when I bid them sing, will sing, And when I sing myself are still; And that my scent is drops of ink, Which, were my song as great as I, Would sweeten man till he was dust, And make the world one Araby; Thinking how my hot passions make Strong floods of shallows that run cold -- Oh how I burn to make my dreams Lighten and thunder through the world! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VIRGIN'S SLUMBER SONG by JOSEPH FRANCIS CARLIN MACDONNELL MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 2 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 83 by PHILIP SIDNEY PORTRAIT OF A LADY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS ADAM'S CURSE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 2 by MARK AKENSIDE |