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 cages bird beats
his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel
bars;
For he must fly back to his perch
and cling
When he fain would be on the
bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs 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 wing is bruised and
his bosom sore,-
When he beats his bars and he
would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from
his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven
he flings-
I know why the caged bird sings!
From The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar
edited by Joanne M. Braxton
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