 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Prison
The prison house is full, there is no cellBut hath its prisoner laden with his chains;
And yet they live as though their life was well,
Nor of its burthening sin the soul complains;
Thou dost not see where thou hast lived so long,
The place is called the skull where thou dost tread;
Why laugh you then, why sing the sportive song,
As if you lived, and knowest not thou art dead;
Yes thou art dead; the morn breaks o'er thee now,
Where is thy Father, He who gave thee birth?
Thou art a severed limb, a barren bough,
Thou sleepest in deep caverns of the earth;
Awake! thou hast a glorious race to run,
Put on thy strength, thou hast not yet begun.
Poem No. 544; c. January 1839
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