The Starling

Forever the impenetrable wall
Of self confines my poor rebellious soul,
I never see the towering white clouds roll
Before a sturdy wind, save through the small
Barred window of my jail. I live a thrall
With all my outer life a clipped, square hole,
Rectangular; a fraction of a scroll
Unwound and winding like a worsted ball.
My thoughts are grown uneager and depressed
Through being always mine, my fancy's wings
Are moulted and the feathers blown away.
I weary for desires never guessed,
For alien passions, strange imaginings,
To be some other person for a day.

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Frank Watson's picture

Too self-absorbed and depressed for my taste. Some of the phrases were tired, like "impenetrable wall" and comparing her room to a jail. Some other phrases were overly abstract without real substance, such as "alien passions, strange imaginings." More like a diary entry of a teenager than a poem, though the fanciful sentiment (e.g., "Through being always mine, my fancy's wings / Are moulted and the feathers blown away") does hint at the poetic personality that would write other, better work.

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