Why did you flutter in vain hope, poor bird, Hard-pressed in your small cage of clay? 'Twas but a sweet, false echo that you heard, Caught only a feint of day. Still is the night all dark, a homeless dark. Burn yet the unanswering stars. And silence brings The same sea's desolate surge -- sans bound or mark -- Of all your wanderings. Fret now no more; be still. Those steadfast eyes, Those folded hands, they cannot set you free; Only with beauty wake wild memories -- Sorrow for where you are, for where you would be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED by CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY TO THINK OF TIME by WALT WHITMAN THE WARM CRADLE by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 84. DHU'L JADAL WA'L IKRAM by EDWIN ARNOLD THE LAST MAN: BONA DE MORTUIS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE FRATERNAL DUEL by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS SONNETS OF SEVEN CITIES: BOSTON by BERTON BRALEY THE PURITAN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH RED COTTON NIGHT-CAP COUNTRY; OR, TURF AND TOWERS: PART 4 by ROBERT BROWNING |