to cage

My soul has wrought itself a cage
and in it prowls
a spirit restless
sad, fearful, and brave
When winter ends
and spring returns
the winds that like a tempest rage
do recoil, and in that halcyon bay
a sweeter calm and better age
do take the place of that mistake
which some call nature
but that of itself
can never hope to assuage
Often I wonder at the point
of such a blunder
without it would my life be better?
would meaning clearer?
or only more bitter?
these senses seem a waste of time
to cage within a lonely mind
and break oneself to pieces
only to renew
a better person, a wholer psyche