Classic Poem

If the wings of my song were so strong as to lift me from under
The rhythms and regular rhymes that are all of my skill,
Would I soar, would I rise in the fullness of power? I wonder. . .
Could I ever give up the old longing to warble and trill?

The hawk and the sea-gull that circle in confident splendor
Dazzle and thrill me; but I am no sweeper of stars.
I am one with the finch that has only her song to commend her,
The thrush or the prisoned canary, still lyric for all of its bars.