From 'Emblems'

My Soul is like a Bird; my Flesh, the Cage;
Wherein, she wears her weary Pilgrimage
Of hours as few as evil, daily fed
With sacred Wine, and Sacramental Bread;
The keys that lock her in, and lets her out,
Are Birth, and Death; ‘twist both, she hops about
From perch to perch; from Sense to Reason; then,
From higher Reason, down to Sense again:
From Sense she climbs to Faith; where, for a season,
She sits and sings; then, down again to Reason;
From Reason, back to Faith; and straight, from thence
She rudely flutters to the Perch of Sense;
From Sense to Hope; then hops from Hope to Doubt;
From Doubt, to dull Despair; there, seeks about
For desperate Freedom; and at every Gate,
She wildly thrusts, and begs the untimely date
Of unexpired thraldom, to release
The afflicted Captive, that can find no peace:
Thus am I cooped within this fleshly Cage,
I wear my youth, and waste my weary Age,
Spending that breath which was ordained to chant
Heaven’s praises forth, in sighs and sad complaint:
While happier birds can spread their nimble wing
From Shrubs to Cedars, and there chirp and sing,
In choice of raptures, the harmonious story
Of man’s Redemption and his Maker’s Glory:
You glorious Martyrs; you illustrious Troops,
That once were cloistered in your fleshly Coops.
Great Lord of souls, to whom should prisoners fly,
But You? You had Your Cage, as well as I:
And, for my sake, Your pleasure was to know
The sorrows that it brought, and felt them too;
O set me free, and I will spend those days,
Which now I waste in begging, in Your praise.

—Francis Quarles (1592-1644)