WHILES, when I sit alone, I hear my soul, At the far other end of the room that is me, Head cocked aside, in vacant persistency, Trying over some word it has caught from me, some toll Of my daily tongue, some little habitual phrase That was plaintive in me, but ironical and unkind From that iron beak, some phrase as @3It's not that I mind@1 Or the silly @3I think he needn't@1 ... And then of the days I dream when my journey must come and I remove From the streets of Time to the shires of Eternity, Those counties sprinkled with towns, and the heavenly sea, And the gardens of peace, and the high strong house of Love. Will this then come with me also, and still with its air Of inquisitive cunning go practising over again All it has learnt from me here, and its talk be plain? Will it fly through those gardens and clamour and haunt me there Among the trees, and all shall know it for mine? For mine? or for me,—loosed to my doom in that sky? Here a cage and a cover I have, but there the birds fly; Soaring and sinking and resting in joy divine, Each with its own call, happy, busy, and glad,— There a dove, there a lark, there even a ravaging hawk, But only this parrot for me with its hideous squawk, ... Then I cover it up, lest the dream should drive me mad. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 88. A DAY IN SUSSEX by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT BOSTON HYMN; READ IN MUSIC HALL, JANUARY 1, 1863 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON YOUR HANDS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE SONNET: 21 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY by ALEXANDER POPE |