Thinking of my caged birds indoors, My books, whose music serves my will; Which, when I bid them sing, will sing, And when I sing myself are still; And that my scent is drops of ink, Which, were my song as great as I, Would sweeten man till he was dust, And make the world one Araby; Thinking how my hot passions make Strong floods of shallows that run cold -- Oh how I burn to make my dreams Lighten and thunder through the world! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SLEEP by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE SONG OF THE SMOKE by WILLIAM EDWARD BURGHARDT DU BOIS THE HOUSE WITH NOBODY IN IT by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER SAINT TERESA'S BOOK-MARK by THERESA OF AVILA IN THE OLD SOUTH CHURCH; 1677 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |