Sympathy

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!