  I Beat, little breast, against the wires. Strive, little wings and misted eyes Which one wild gleam of memory fires Beseeching still the unfettered skies, Whither at dewy dawn you sprang Quivering with joy from this dark earth and sang. II And still you sing—your narrow cage Shall set at least your music free! Its rapturous wings in glorious rage Mount and are lost in liberty, While those who caged you creep on earth Blind prisoners from the hour that gave them birth. III Sing! The great City surges round. Blinded with light, thou canst not know. Dream! 'Tis the fir-woods' windy sound Rolling a psalm of praise below. Sing, o'er the bitter dust and shame, And touch us with thine own transcendent flame. IV Sing, o'er the City dust and slime; Sing, o'er the squalor and the gold, The greed that darkens earth with crime, The spirits that are bought and sold. O, shower the healing notes like rain, And lift us to the height of grief again. V Sing! The same music swells your breast, And the wild notes are still as sweet As when above the fragrant nest And the wide billowing fields of wheat You soared and sang the livelong day, And in the light of heaven dissolved away. VI The light of heaven! Is it not here? One rapture, one ecstatic joy, One passion, one sublime despair, One grief which nothing can destroy, You—though your dying eyes are wet Remember, 'tis our blunted hearts forget. VII Beat, little breast, still beat, still beat, Strive, misted eyes and tremulous wings; Swell, little throat, your Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! Thro' which such deathless memory rings: Better to break your heart and die, Than, like your gaolers, to forget your sky. |
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