Classic Poem

O soul, poor lonely traveller far from home,
Whom thy great master banished from his face,
To make of this gross frame thy dwelling place,
Thy bright eyes darkened, and thy sweet voice dumb;
A little while, and thou hast filled the sum
Of loneliness and exile and disgrace;
O soul, take courage for a little space,
And then the time has come, the time has come.

Oft hast thou told me of that home of thine,
And touched my heart with rapture as I heard;
And often times, methinks, the air was stirred
With rustle of strange wings, as some divine,
Some freer playmate from beyond the stars
Paused for a while beside thy prison bars.