The Prisoner

Still let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear

Year after year in gloom and desolate despair;

A messenger of Hope comes every night to me

And offers for short life, eternal liberty.

He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs

With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars:

Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire

And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.