Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/167

 Of these weary days That our life-drops mark?

We whose mind is blind, Fed with hope of nought; Wastes of worn mankind, Without heart or mind, Without meat or thought;

We with strife of life Worn till all life cease, Want, a whetted knife, Sharpening strife on strife, How should we love peace?

Ye whose meat is sweet And your wine-cup red, Us beneath your feet Hunger grinds as wheat, Grinds to make you bread.

Ye whose night is bright With soft rest and heat, Clothed like day with light, Us the naked night Slays from street to street.