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On a Political Prisoner
| She that but little patience knew, | | From childhood on, had now so much | | A grey gull lost its fear and flew | | Down to her cell and there alit, | | And there endured her fingers’ touch | | And from her fingers ate its bit. | | | | | | Did
she in touching that lone wing | | Recall the years before her mind | | Became a bitter, an abstract thing, | | Her
thought some popular enmity: | | Blind and leader of the blind | | Drinking the foul ditch where they lie? | | | | | | When
long ago I saw her ride | | Under Ben Bulben to the meet, | | The beauty of her country-side | | With all youth’s
lonely wildness stirred, | | She seemed to have grown clean and sweet | | Like any rock-bred, sea-borne bird: | | | | | | Sea-borne, or balanced on the air | | When first it sprang out of the nest | | Upon some lofty rock to stare | | Upon the cloudy canopy, | | While under its storm-beaten breast | | Cried out the hollows of the sea. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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