Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage? Such is the soul in the body. This world is like her little turf of grass; and the heaven over our heads, like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.
Webster.
WORLD, hence with thy baubles, wealth, splendour, and fame,
What good in a pageant? what worth in a name?
Can they calm the wild heart that exists but to love?
Can they fill the free spirit designed for above?
The dew on the roses of pleasure are tears;
Power ev’n in its pride is but hope amid fears;
And life a long April unfollowed by May,
Why tell me of glory? why bid me be gay?
Affection itself, the bright peri that brings
More wealth to the heart than the east to its kings,
With her words and her smiles that bid Eden revive,
Can she trample on death, or the dark grave survive?
Yet why do I blame ye fair gifts, or repine,
When the sin and the sorrow are mine, only mine?
To the eye that looks upward each object hath worth,
For the glory of heaven is reflected on earth!
(Mary Jane Jewsbury)
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