Sympathy
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know what the caged bird feels, alas!When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,And the river flows like a stream of glass;When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--I know what the caged bird feels! I know why the caged bird beats his wingTill its blood is red on the cruel bars;For he must fly back to his perch and clingWhen he fain would be on the bough a-swing;And a pain still throbs in the old, old scarsAnd they pulse again with a keener sting--I know why he beats his wing! I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--When he beats his bars and he would be free;It is not a carol of joy or glee,But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--I know why the caged bird sings!
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