Louisa May Alcott

(29 November 1832 – 6 March 1888 / Pennsylvania / United States)

A Little Bird I Am


'A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air,
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there:
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee!

'Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom most I love to please
Doth listen to my song,
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.'

Submitted: Tuesday, April 06, 2010

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  • * Sunprincess * (6/5/2014 8:41:00 PM)

    ........very nicely written....pretty sure a lot of people feel the same way this little bird does....truly enjoyed..
    .....................................................~~~~~~~ love love love ~~~~~~~........................................... (Report) Reply

  • Stephen Hoenig (2/22/2013 4:35:00 AM)

    I just happened across this poem this morning and was struck by its beauty and sadness. I know little about Louisa May Alcott. I have not even read Little Women (but I will) . I just get this picture of a sad, sweet young woman so lonely and so trapped that she would accept any sort of attention even that of a jailer. Sadly, I have met people trapped in situations where any attention, even that of an abuser is better than their present state of utter loneliness. But at the same time there is something noble about the way she accepts her fate and makes the best of it.
    As Americans we are taught to fight to the bitter end against any who would attempt to imprison us and force anything upon us that does not suit our will. And I am far from being wise enough to debate that sentiment. But isn't it also true that there comes a time when that fight is a useless gesture and merely an exercise in futility?
    This is a subject that could go on for pages and pages (and has) so I will end it here with these thoughts: I have many times found it difficult to know another's true feelings. Is he living in pain? Or rather is it a sense of guiltless acceptance. Aye, there's the rub for In the end all I can do is cast about my poor reflections on the greatness and apparent sadness of this lovely young woman. As I read and reread these verses I begin to question my original conclusions. Maybe this is not sadness at all. Maybe she is exactly where she wants to be. Maybe this is exactly where she wants to be: safe, protected and loved with an eternal captive audience. My God, it will make your head spin.

    But then again, maybe it really is just a poem about a bird in a cage. (Report) Reply

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