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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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