WINGS
I live in every sentient thing.
Aye, what am I?—
The force that stirs the bird to sing,
And bids it fly;
The urge within the grey cocoon
To swell, and rend
The prison-walls; the ceaseless croon,—
“Life hath no end!”
The pulse within the seed that breaks
The shrivelled shell;
The thrill in bud, till bloom awakes;
The clarion bell
That calls the soul of Man to rise;
The power that flings
Off shackles of the flesh, and cries,—
“Behold thy wings!”