As a dare-gale skylark scanted in a dull cage, <br /> Man's mounting spirit in his bone-house, mean house, dwells -- <br /> That bird beyond the remembering h{'i}s free fells; <br /> This in drudgery, day-labouring-out life's age. <br /> Though aloft on turf or perch or poor low stage <br /> Both sing somet{'i}mes the sweetest, sweetest spells, <br /> Yet both droop deadly s{'o}metimes in their cells <br /> Or wring their barriers in bursts of fear or rage. <br /> <br /> Not that the sweet-fowl, song-fowl, needs no rest -- <br /> Why, hear him, hear him babble |&| drop down to his nest, <br /> But his own nest, wild nest, no prison. <br /> Man's spirit will be flesh-bound, when found at best, <br /> But {'u}nc{'u}mber{`e}d: meadow-d{'o}wn is n{'o}t distr{'e}ssed <br /> For a r{'a}inbow f{'o}oting it nor h{'e} for his b{'o}nes r{'i}sen.<br /><br />Gerard Manley Hopkins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-caged-skylark/
