SHE that but little patience knew, <br />From childhood on, had now so much <br />A grey gull lost its fear and flew <br />Down to her cell and there alit, <br />And there endured her fingers' touch <br />And from her fingers ate its bit. <br />Did she in touching that lone wing <br />Recall the years before her mind <br />Became a bitter, an abstract thing, <br />Her thought some popular enmity: <br />Blind and leader of the blind <br />Drinking the foul ditch where they lie? <br />When long ago I saw her ride <br />Under Ben Bulben to the meet, <br />The beauty of her country-side <br />With all youth's lonely wildness stirred, <br />She seemed to have grown clean and sweet <br />Like any rock-bred, sea-borne bird: <br />Sea-borne, or balanced on the air <br />When first it sprang out of the nest <br />Upon some lofty rock to stare <br />Upon the cloudy canopy, <br />While under its storm-beaten breast <br />Cried out the hollows of the sea.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-political-prisoner/
