While my soul is choked with the knowledge
That Man as a ruler over his brethren
Has builded strong the prisons
And dug for his brethren the pits of putrefaction?
Shall I set my ear to catch the song of Earth's singing, Or be glad of the voices of my little brothers, the frogs, Who wake so knowingly in the Springtime ; Or rejoice in the monodies of crickets and grasshoppers, Plaintively shrilling their anthems ?
Can I wholly rejoice in the clear exultance of birds
When the buds put forth again.
Or share the pridefulness of anxious mothers
When in the sunny thicket they teach their young to fly?
My chained heart gossips with them
When in painted Autumn they gather together
Before they travel Southward on the unruled air.
As so, oh my Soul, would I rejoice
To fly unto a free and sunnier world.
But can I be glad in the freedom of the birds When the weary millions are oppressed? Can I be consoled by the splendor of my birthright When I know that the millions bow their heads and
starve in darkness? A little while, they move feebly between the cradle and
the grave. As fledglings stir within their nest, So the Poor stir a moment, in a cloudy morning. And are quickly devoured by the dark coming eagles.
TRUTH: Revolution ! Revolution !
POET: Before me is a vast sea of brutal faces, Beaten down into the dust. And within each, burning like a dim lamp,
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