Died out and away in the leafy wraps!
Wall upon wall are between us: life
And song should away from heart to heart!
I—prison-bird, with a ruddy strife
At breast, and a lip whence storm-notes start—
Hold on, hope hard in the subtle thing
That 's spirit: though cloistered fast, soar free;
Account as wood, brick, stone, this ring
Of the rueful neighbors, and—forth to thee!