In the forest a pleasant tree Grew and flourished verdantly, And a bird in its branches high Built her nest against the sky. All summer she sang and swayed In the greenness and the shade, Loving the murmurous glee Of the leaves where she flitted free. Darkly, tumultuously, A storm beat down on the tree, Which under the mighty stroke Earthward in ruin broke. But the bird from the branches high Flew unharmed to a clearer sky, For the bird, the bird was free! Oh, the bird, my soul, is free! Though storm blast my body's tree, Though winter blight or the fire consume, Other forests wait, other summers bloom, For the bird, my soul, which is free! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR 'THE WINE OF CIRCE' (BY EDWARD BURNE JONES) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TO QUILCA; A COUNTRY HOUSE IN NO GOOD REPAIR by JONATHAN SWIFT A VISION OF THE VOICE OF YAHVEH by AMOS TO BESSIE HAWES, MAY QUEEN by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 10. THE DEATH OF HUSKISSON by T. BAKER TO A MATTABASSETT (A CONNECTICUT INDIAN) by WALTER BARDECK |