Hill people turn to their hills; Sea-folk are sick for the sea: Thou art my land and my country, And my heart calls out for thee. The bird beats his wings for the open, The captive burns to be free; But I -- I cry at thy window, For thou art my liberty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A JOYFUL SONG OF FIVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SAINT PATRICK by EDWIN MARKHAM THE FLAMING CIRCLE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER NO MASTER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES DIRGE (1) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON SONNET: 71 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |