Page:The Poet in the Desert.djvu/40



Nor the mournful cooing of the dove from the rocky hillside,

Near the spring, which is bordered with cresses.

I only hear the reverberation of the riveter,

That iron woodpecker, which perches upon the steel- girders.

High against the sky, with iron-bill

Tapping, rattling, reverberant, deafening.

I see men running about on beams and girders,

Human spiders, weaving the iron-cobwebs of the sky- scrapers.

I see them running about recklessly as if the air were their home.

A sudden slip, a swift rush to Eternity,

On the pavement, the blood trickling from his nostrils,

A spider of the iron-web lies still.

A coat blots out the sight.

TRUTH: Nothing is ever blotted.

Even the grass-roots remember when they have fed on blood.

POET: Justice is blind.

TRUTH: Justice, immortal, relentless, clear-visioned ; Red drop for drop, carefully insisting that the debt be paid.

POET: There lies the accusing thing, Shouting its loud, dumb challenge to the sky.

TRUTH: Dead for a wage so pitiful.

34

POET: