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 the must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a swing;
And a pain still throbsd 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 wings is bruised and his bosom sore,-
When he beats his bars and would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his deep heart's core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings-
I know why the caged bird sings!