Arthur Davison Ficke

O TRAGIC bird! whose bleeding feet,

Whose maddened wings dizzily beat

Against your cage in agony—

Soon, soon to win your liberty!

Still you believe that happiness

Dwells just beyond the bars you press

That if a sudden miracle

Gave your desire, life would be well.

The old, old dream! The old, old lure!

The devil plays; his stakes are sure.

With happiness he baits his gin

That still mankind shall perish in.

And still we trust our hearts could be

Blessed by the distant liberty,

Blind to the newer agony!

The earth will be a frozen coal

Before man knows his traitor soul.