THE SKYLARKS.
IN AN EAST-END BIRD MARKET.
Oir, the sky, the sky, the open sky, For the home of a song-bird's heart !
And why, why, why, why Do they stifle here in the mart ?
Cages of agony, rows on rows, Torture that only a wild thing knows ; Is it nothing to you to see That head thrust out through the hopeless wire, And the tiny life, and the mad desire To be free, to be free, to be free ?
Oh, the sky, the sky, the blue, wide sky, For the beat of a song-bird's wings !
And why, why, why, why P- Is the only song it sings.
Great, sad eyes, with a frightened stare, Look through the wildering darkness there, The surge, the crowd, and the cry, Fluttering wild wings beat and bleed, And it will not peck at the golden seed, And the water is almost dry; And straight and close are the cramping bars, From the dawn of mist to the chill of stars,— And yet it must sing or die !
Will its marred, hoarse voice in the city street Make any heart of you glad?
It will only beat with its wings, and beat, It will only sing you mad.
Better to lie like this one dead, Ruffled plumage on breast and head, Poor little feathers for ever furled, And only a song gone out of the world !
Where the grasses wave like an emerald sea And the poppies nod in the corn, Where the fields are wide and the wind blows free, This joy of the spring was born, Whose passionate music loud and loud, In the hush and the rose of morn Was a voice that fell from the sailing cloud Midway to the blue above,— A thing whose meaning was joy and love, Whose life was one exquisite outpouring Of a sweet, surpassing note ;- And all you have done is to break its wing, And to blast God's breath in its throat !
If it does not go to your hearts to see The helpless pity of those bruised wings, The tireless effort with which it clings To the strain and the will to be free, I know not how I shall set in words The meaning of God in this, For the loveliest thing in this world of his Are the ways and the songs of birds !
And the sky, the sky, the wide, free sky, For the home of the song-bird's heart !
And why, why, why, why
Do they stifle here in the mart ? RENNELL RODD.
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