An interpretation of
Sympathy
By Paul Dunbar
I KNOW what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals --
I know what the caged bird feels!
The cage bird is not allowed to use its ability to fly. Just like the African American was not allowed to explore and be free, instead they were enslaved by the master. These slaves used the sun as a glitter of hope and a symbol of…
