The lion remembers the forest, 
    The lion in chains; 
To the bird that is captive a vision 
    Of woodland remains. 

One strains with his strength at the fetter, 
    In impotent rage; 
One flutters in flights of a moment, 
    And beats at the cage. 

If the lion were loosed from the fetter, 
    To wander again; 
He would seek the wide silence and shadow 
    Of his jungle in vain. 

He would rage in his fury, destroying; 
    Let him rage, let him roam! 
Shall he traverse the pitiless mountain, 
    Or swim through the foam? 

If they opened the cage and the casement, 
    And the bird flew away; 
He would come back at evening, heartbroken, 
    A captive for aye. 

Would come if his kindred had spared him, 
    Free birds from afar— 
There was wrought what is stronger than iron 
    In fetter and bar. 

I cannot remember my country, 
    The land whence I came; 
Whence they brought me and chained me and made me 
    Nor wild thing nor tame. 

This only I know of my country, 
    This only repeat:— 
It was free as the forest, and sweeter 
    Than woodland retreat. 

When the chain shall at last be broken, 
    The window set wide; 
And I step in the largeness and freedom 
    Of sunlight outside; 

Shall I wander in vain for my country? 
    Shall I seek and not find? 
Shall I cry for the bars that encage me 
    The fetters that bind?