‘I can’t get out,’ said the starling.
Sterne’s Sentimental Journey

Forever the impenetrable wall
   Of self contains 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.