Poems (Craik)/The Canary in his Cage

by Dinah Maria Craik

THE CANARY IN HIS CAGE.

ING away, ay, sing away,
 Merry little bird,
Always gayest of the gay,
Though a woodland roundelay
 You ne'er sung nor heard;
Though your life from youth to age
Passes in a narrow cage.

Near the window wild birds fly,
 Trees are waving round:
Fair things everywhere you spy
Through the glass pane's mystery,
 Your small life's small bound:
Nothing hinders your desire
But a little gilded wire.

Like a human soul you seem
 Shut in golden bars:
Placed amidst earth's sunshine-stream,
Singing to the morning beam,
 Dreaming 'neath the stars;
Seeing all life's pleasures clear,—
But they never can come near.

Never! Sing, bird-poet mine,
 As most poets do;—
Guessing by an instinct fine
At some happiness divine
 Which they never knew.
Lonely in a prison bright
Hymning for the world's delight.

Yet, my birdie, you 're content
 In your tiny cage:
Not a carol thence is sent
But for happiness is meant—
 Wisdom pure as sage:
Teaching, the true poet's part
Is to sing with merry heart.

So, lie down thou peevish pen,
 Eyes, shake off all tears;
And my wee bird, sing again:
I 'll translate your song to men
 In these future years.
"Howsoe'er thy lot 's assigned,
Bear it with a cheerful mind."