TO A CAGED BIRD
Voice of the forest, tongue by which it speaksThe throbbing gladness of its vernal time,No more, no more, your rising pinion seeksThe heights sublime.Voice of the forest, once your gay wings beatAgainst the mountain diademed with stars;Now do men bid you sing a song as sweetTo prison bars.Only a singer that they, passing, heardAnd then desired, like book and pipe and bowl—Knowing nor caring when they cage a birdThey cage a soul.
Voice of the forest, tongue by which it speaksThe throbbing gladness of its vernal time,No more, no more, your rising pinion seeksThe heights sublime.Voice of the forest, once your gay wings beatAgainst the mountain diademed with stars;Now do men bid you sing a song as sweetTo prison bars.Only a singer that they, passing, heardAnd then desired, like book and pipe and bowl—Knowing nor caring when they cage a birdThey cage a soul.
Voice of the forest, tongue by which it speaksThe throbbing gladness of its vernal time,No more, no more, your rising pinion seeksThe heights sublime.
Voice of the forest, tongue by which it speaks
The throbbing gladness of its vernal time,
No more, no more, your rising pinion seeks
The heights sublime.
Voice of the forest, once your gay wings beatAgainst the mountain diademed with stars;Now do men bid you sing a song as sweetTo prison bars.
Voice of the forest, once your gay wings beat
Against the mountain diademed with stars;
Now do men bid you sing a song as sweet
To prison bars.
Only a singer that they, passing, heardAnd then desired, like book and pipe and bowl—Knowing nor caring when they cage a birdThey cage a soul.
Only a singer that they, passing, heard
And then desired, like book and pipe and bowl—
Knowing nor caring when they cage a bird
They cage a soul.