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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DANIEL WEBSTER by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES A PROPHECY by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE MIRROR by THEODORE AUBANEL RHAPSODY by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |