Like some rare flower endowed With conscious freedom, vying With the wind, I see thee flying Above the crowd, O strayed exotic of the wilderness! In this long hour of thy distress, Confined between the lofty towers Of noisy trade, Seeking the green and bloom of bowers From whence thou'st strayed, Thy frail wings grow dull, Lost butterfly. Their movements lull. And then I see thee rise Above the gibbering street, As if thou wouldst retreat To the sweet immortal skies. But thy broken sails are weak, Nor may they help thee seek Thy lost paradise. Thy sad hour shalt thou fight In vain, despairing flight, Then fall and die. * * * Blooms on the world of fragrant things, And in the grass the cricket sings! So man, frail man, shall struggle upward, too, Longing to scan some soul-remembered view, And then shall fall and die at last, like you. But far afield, perhaps, his spirit hears The welcome music of immortal years. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ORANGE PICKER by DAVID IGNATOW GOOD-BYE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SEPULCHRE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO RICHARD R. WRIGHT - INSTRUCTOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON VENUS IN A GARDEN by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |