Classic Poem

Here in the shadows of our cloistered walk,
Where all our life is narrowed to a square,
We prisoners sit; we sleep or read or talk,
Dreaming of halcyon summers spent elsewhere.
The towering trees strive upward to the sky
In semblance of our spirits' liberty,
Which lives on recollections ne'er to die,
Although the earthly body be not free.
And sometimes through the vaulted, cloudless blue
There dives with thundering engine, swift as light,
An albatross, all painted, yellow, new,
Volplaning housetops, vanishing in flight.
Thus do we pass our close-sequestered life,
Hoping the hopes of freedom, following strife.