Blow, ye March Winds,—blow fiendish-like, blow, What demons are riding with thee? Who calls from your depths as ye rush to and fro "O Poet, come, come and be free, Free—free—free, O Poet, come, come and be free." Fain would I ride on your swift winged crest, My soul yearns to travel with thee, But suckling I am on Mother Earth's breast, Too weak, oh too weak to be free. Speed soft on your way, goad me not as ye fly, Gods! must I stop here and be A weakling, a babe in Eternity's eye? Not yet, oh not yet to be free. Shackled and bound with the earth-ties I stay, Fate's pawn, still my heart envies thee, When Death breaks the bonds I will up and away, I'll come, yes I'll come and be free, Free—free—free. I'll come, yes, I 'll come and be free. |