EMILY MONDAY

652

A Prison gets to be a friend —

Between its Ponderous face

And Ours — a Kinsmanship express —

And in its narrow Eyes —

We come to look with gratitude

For the appointed Beam

It deal us — stated as our food —

And hungered for — the same —

We learn to know the Planks —

That answer to Our feet —

So miserable a sound — at first —

Nor ever now — so sweet —

As plashing in the Pools —

When Memory was a Boy —

But a Demurer Circuit —

A Geometric Joy —

The Posture of the Key

That interrupt the Day

To Our Endeavor — Not so real

The Check of Liberty —

As this Phantasm Steel —

Whose features — Day and Night —

Are present to us — as Our Own —

And as escapeless — quite —

The narrow Round — the Stint —

The slow exchange of Hope —

For something passiver — Content

Too steep for lookinp up —

The Liberty we knew

Avoided — like a Dream —

Too wide for any Night but Heaven —

If That — indeed — redeem —