IN HER PRISON.
107
And somewhere there are golden cups of wine,
And snowy cakes where combs of honey shine.
And snowy cakes where combs of honey shine.
Through other lips I taste the wine, and touch
Through other feet the carpets—that is much.
Through other feet the carpets—that is much.
I see through other eyes the lights, and hear
The laughter clearly, not with mine own ear.
The laughter clearly, not with mine own ear.
My grating gathers me a drop of dew;
Some piteous blossom sends its sweetness through.
Some piteous blossom sends its sweetness through.
Some tender bird, far on a sunny tree,
Breaks his wild song and gives one half to me.
Breaks his wild song and gives one half to me.
The palace music leaves the palace guest,
And falls to dreaming here upon my breast.
And falls to dreaming here upon my breast.
Yet, spite of all, sometimes my Prison shakes
With the great yearning of a heart that aches.
With the great yearning of a heart that aches.
Oh! that its lonesome roof would fall to-night,
And show me for an instant—something White!
And show me for an instant—something White!
