Classic Poem

Dead city walls may pen us in, but still
Her influence seeks, to find us,--even there,
Through many a simple means. A vagrant mass
Of sunshine, falling into some void place,
Shall warm us to the heart, and trade awhile,
Though through some sorrowful reminiscence,
With instincts which, regenerated thus,
Make us child-happy. A stray gust of wind
Pent in and wasting up the narrow lanes,
Shall breathe insinuations to our age
Of youth's fresh promise. Even a bird, though caged,
Shall represent past freedom, and its notes
Be spirited with memories that call
Around us the fresh fumes of bubbling brooks