Classic Poem

Envying a little bird
His flight to heaven my heart is stirred,
So hardy is the wing he finds
To breast the bluster of the winds,
So lightly pulsing doth he fare,
Enamored of the sunset there—
And swaying ever higher, higher,
He mounts unto the realms of fire!
Would I were with thee in thy flight,
Fair plaything of the breeze tonight,
And from thy heart such impulse know
As spreads thy steadfast pinions so!
I follow with a lover's sighs
Impatient, where thou cleav'st the skies,
Feeling my body's prison bars
Withhold my spirit from the stars.
For of the Sun supreme am I
A love-delirious butterfly;
By tender dawns I sip,—but claim
The blossom of His noontide flame.
O little bird, my dismal cell
Reflects His sunlit splendors well—
His glorious beauties are for me
But shadowed in my misery!
In envy of thy boundless flight
But one desire can requite
My heart,—a salamander's soul
To brave His flames without control!—
Thy flight is joyous, little bird.
While I in prison am interred;
But seeing thee my soul is raised
Unto the skies thou seek'st amazed;
A lover and a captive bound
Am I amid my darkness found;
Would that some mighty power would rend
My chains and my harsh durance end!
O what a flight would then be mine,
Could I this shackle-weight resign!
With what warm impulse of the skies
My wing against thine own would rise!
Unto thy heart yon crimson tryst
Of sunset glory hath sufficed;
Thy spirit glad and free of care
Doth to its golden lattice fare;
But I who, knowing, love and pine
For Him that is the Sphere Divine,
Of griefs my only wings can make,
And flights alone on sighings take!
In His immensity of light
I fall into annulling blight;
In the vast clearness of His sphere
My feeble senses disappear.
His brilliance bids my wings expand
To rapid flight unto His hand,—
But, oh, my nature's heavy bond
Denies me freedom for beyond!
Do thou, fair bird, on tireless wing
Beyond the heavenly archway spring,
And breasting higher, higher, bear
This message of my fond despair;
Unto that Light and Sun to show
How love doth wound me here below;
Within the inaccessible sky
To say how of my love I die,
Since through my light of faith alone
His radiant beauteousness is known;
To say, the more His splendor shows
The more my dismal blindness grows;
And yet I glory in the dark
His steps in passing by me mark;
To say I wait the joyous hour
When He shall break the mortal power
That holds me prisoned here so long,
And loose me for the wingéd throng,
To say His rays through chink and bar
But only added torments are;—
That all the more His lights display
The more my wounds and burns by day;
That all the noons are full of Him,
Filling joy's goblets to the brim,—
That all my soul is in decline,
Beholding thus His glory shine!
Little bird, if thou of love
Ever the sweet pain didst prove,
Pity take upon my woes
And mourn o'er what my breasts disclose.
Speak to my sweet Lord on high,
That He may grant me liberty,
And lending thy fair wings the while
That I may seek His distant isle,
And from this prison dire be gone,
From this captivity whereon
So many a tear and groan I shed
Unto my dark and exiled bed;
Where gazing on thy happy flight
I realize my bitter plight,—
And love the more impatient glows
As brighter its far object shows!