Poems (Cromwell)/The Lion
THE LION
I feel the lines of yellow sunlight burn My body, alternating with each bar Of shadow. Captive in my cage, I yearn For the large river where somnambular I drank at twilight, listening lest some star Betray me quenching the salt blood. But far Is the cool river! Golden sun-streaks burn Athwart my body, in between each bar Of shadow. Now I range in circular Pursuit of my own power, now taciturn, I lie. My refluent sinews fetters are; And with reverberant fires, I lash, I spurn This body which the yellow sun-streaks burn: My passion mocks these lines of cinnabar.