Classic Poem

Fixed in some deep and lonely cell,
And doomed a weary chain to wear,
The prisoner's bosom oft must swell
With longing to be free as air.

Thus by dull sense shut in, confined
To this low earth, where shadows lie,
That chill its fires, its vision blind,
My prisoner spirit pines to fly.

Far, far above the gloom of night,
It sees the purely brilliant sheen
Of stars that ever roll in light,
And wishes for a world serene:

A world unstained by sin and tears,
Unreached by pangs that wring us here,
Where in the calm, sweet flow of years,
There's nought to wish, and nought to fear.

Such a fair world there is on high,
For yearning souls that restless roam;
O, for thy wings, thou dove, to fly
And seek in that bright land a home!