The Prisoner

I sit behind bars in the dankest of blocks.
A captive young eagle, the king of the hawks,
My sorry companion here, lifting his wings,
Pecks bloody food by the sill, pecks and flings,

And looks out the window, away, away off,
As if he, with me, fell to thinking one thought.
He summons me now with his look and his cry,
And wants to speak plainly, aloud: "Let us fly!

"We're free birds in truth; it is time, brother, time!
To go, where o'er clouds, the high mountains are white,
To go, where the sea realm's as blue as the sky,
To go, where the wind alone wanders... and I!"