They shut me up in Prose—
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet—
Because they liked me “still”—
 
Still! Could themself have peeped—
And seen my Brain—go round—
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason—in the Pound—
 
Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his Captivity—
And laugh—No more have I—

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