What puts me in a rage is The sight of cursed cages Where singers of the sky Perch hop instead of fly; Where lions to and fro Pace seven yards or so: I who love space of stars Have hate of bars. I wince to see dogs chained, Or horses bit restrained; Or men of feeble mind In straight-jackets confined; Or convicts in black cells Enduring earthly hells: To me not to be free Is fiendish cruelty. To me not to be kind Is evil of the mind. No need to pray or preach, Let us our children teach With every fond caress Pity and gentleness: So in the end may we God's Kingdom bring to be. Robert Service