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U NC OL L E C T E D A N D O T H E R P OE M S | 149 On the ghastly fate Of the San Francisco hen. (Impress, 26 January 1895, 5) In Re “Andromaniacs”19 Parkhurst says that woman is superior, Man, her son, confessedly inferior; That Scripture prove her excellence interior— “God’s favorite sex” is she; Pray forgive the scientific quierier Who asks how that can be. He says ’tis not in the body or the mind of her, But an element constituent in all that you can find of her, Not to see it is obdurate and blind of her; Stupid as can be; She is queen because of it—truly, more than kind of her! Queen of man is she. She is best, because of femininity. Man, poor wretch, has only masculinity. Here stands forth this servant of the Trinity To show which God prefers— The crowns and palms and prizes of infinity Undoubtedly are hers. Still poor man may rule the world and fight in it, Teach and preach and hold his little light in it, Toil and plan that living may be bright in it, All for the sake of love; She has only to keep from any right in it, To hold her place above. (Impress, 2 February 1895, 4) My Cyclamen A little dull brown bulb from somewhere, And out of its heart, For days and months together, With never a thought for time or weather, The white buds start. Great green lovely leaves surround it, Shaped like a heart, Large green leaves with purple under, And when they fall—the living wonder!— Fair new ones start. 150 | Uncollected and Other Poems No matter now for air or sunlight, Alone it lives. Once ’twas fed with a flower’s full blessing, And from that memory caressing It gives and gives! Crowding up in their generous beauty The white buds start; Once made rich with the joy of living— Now it has more in giving and giving Out of its heart. (Impress, 9 February 1895, 4) Work and Wages John Burns20 receives in weekly pay Five pounds as wages, clear; But a London banker, wise and great, Says John is worth to the English state Three million pounds a year. He gives three million pounds in work, Gets fifty-two times five; It does not seem exactly straight That he who serves so well the state Should just be kept alive. John Rockefeller corners oil,21 To make thereby a living; And, by an odd coincidence, He makes—an income most immense— Just what John Burns is giving. He gives—the skill to corner oil! Gets fifteen million yearly; (Dollars for pounds the sum’s the same,) But how in all creation’s name, Does it come to match so queerly? The rich man makes his yearly claim, John Burns’ labor meets it; But why should one man feed the earth, Enriching it by all he’s worth, If Rockefeller eats it? And why should Rockefeller have, For handing round the oil, For his own self in private wealth Fruit of the teeming strength and health Of such unstinted toil? ...

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