My unrest fumbles like a hand Along this slender street, Where walls made out of houses stand To hinder my retreat. And always there's a wall of smoke That rises ply on ply, And makes me one with prison folk Who may not view the sky. I've found no freedom here at all From walls in this grey town -- The street itself is but a wall That's lying down! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE BALLAD by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR WESTWARD HO! by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 10. THE PORTRAIT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 98. HE AND I by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI DOROTHY IN THE GARRET by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE |