My prison has its pleasures. Every day <br />At breakfast--time, spare meal of milk and bread, <br />Sparrows come trooping in familiar way <br />With head aside beseeching to be fed. <br />A spider too for me has spun her thread <br />Across the prison rules, and a brave mouse <br />Watches in sympathy the warders' tread, <br />These two my fellow--prisoners in the house. <br /> <br />But about dusk in the rooms opposite <br />I see lamps lighted, and upon the blind <br />A shadow passes all the evening through. <br />It is the gaoler's daughter fair and kind <br />And full of pity (so I image it) <br />Till the stars rise, and night begins anew.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mitigations/
