 | Late songs |  |
91
THE HOUSE OF LIFE
The life of the body's a cage,
And the soul within it
Frets to escape, to be free,
Like a lark or a linnet.
But since the struggle's in vain,
She is weary ere long;
She chirps and she sings a little
To assuage her wrong.
And the soul within it
Frets to escape, to be free,
Like a lark or a linnet.
But since the struggle's in vain,
She is weary ere long;
She chirps and she sings a little
To assuage her wrong.
Behind the bars she sits brooding
Her evil mishap,
Like a wild little hare or a rabbit
That's caught in a trap,
Till, dazed with despair, she is weary,
And struggles no more,
But plays with the sun and leaf-shadow
That dance on the floor.
Her evil mishap,
Like a wild little hare or a rabbit
That's caught in a trap,
Till, dazed with despair, she is weary,
And struggles no more,
But plays with the sun and leaf-shadow
That dance on the floor.
They call—they call to each other:
O sister so small,
Are you there? Are you there, little brother,
Behind the blank wall?
Like a bird, or a hare, or a rabbit,
Frightened, undone,
The soul calls to another,
That she be not alone.
O sister so small,
92
Behind the blank wall?
Like a bird, or a hare, or a rabbit,
Frightened, undone,
The soul calls to another,
That she be not alone.
| Late songs | |