Sympathy

-- Paul Laurence Dunbar

I 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 wing 

Till its blood is red on the cruel bars; 

For he must fly back to his perch and cling 

When he fain would be on the bough a-swing; 

And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars 

And 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!