I am the angry wind that howls through these roofs. I hear the whispers, the cries, the laughs. I have no eyes, only ears. I can see nothing, but hear the sum: The minutest whisper, the hoarsest cry. I drink in all, I delight in life. I hear the laments, I try to caress I hear the deceits, I lash out in rage. I hear the empty preaching, the murmurs - of the forced prisoners; I hear of those anxious young desires, to learn and progress - in their rooms, when alone; or in company, in discourses on weighty matters, in the loud chamber, with steel clanking: and then, I bear their yawns, mixed with the old voices teaching, in those echoing rooms. I was a zephyr, but has been taught to sigh. The young die here every day; These graveyards of prisoners. I escape each, and fly on but more spring out every day - capturing every empty corner.