WITHIN my cell are singing sounds — a robin's call, afar. Within this gloom are glories white — a light of sun or star. Within this death-hole breathes the air of clover-fields a-hum. What rare and radiant riches to the prisoned spirit come! Within my cell glows ruddy wine — distilled of vineyards dear. Within this fear are lance and shield — what valor gives me cheer. Within defeat pride will not yield — a rebel heritage. And youth is armed with years forgot, to crush the force of age. Within my cell stands liberty — with many a flag of joy. Within this death is freedom born — its tyrant to destroy. Within this hush the bugles blow — to stir the hearts of men. And still I muse, in chains that chafe: "Will there be prisons then?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BRAVE OLD OAK by HENRY FOTHERGILL CHORLEY THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: APRIL by EDMUND SPENSER PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 20. AL-'ALIM by EDWIN ARNOLD TO MR. BLEECKER, ON HIS PASSAGE TO NEW YORK by ANN ELIZA BLEECKER THE GLORY OF GRAY by CHRISTINE F. BRONSON VICTORIAN LADIES by MILDRED HATTON BRYAN |