Date: 1815
"With my own hand I'll ope the way / From its base tenement of clay; / Tir'd of its suff'rings here below, / I'll loose it from this scene of woe; / I'll prune its wings and let it fly, / To seek again its native sky."
preview | full record— Combe, William (1742 -1823)
Date: 1818
"Great Muse, thou know'st what prison, / Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets / Our spirit's wings."
preview | full record— Keats, John (1795-1821)