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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? U NC OL L E C T E D A N D O T H E R P OE M S | 151 John Burns is rich and feeds the world, The world will soon forget him; John Rockefeller, poor and lean, Licks all our fullest platters clean— It’s funny that we let him! (Impress, 9 February 1895, 4) Ruined I am ruined! sobbed the seed, As it fell, by free winds shaken; For the earth was dark indeed, All the light and heat were taken, All the birds’ songs and leaves’ laughter— Only silence followed after— Cold and darkness were its meed. I am ruined! cried the rock As it fell in fragments scattered, For its strength went with the shock. All its use on earth was shattered; All its grandeur and stern beauty, All its forest-bearing duty— Lost in many a shapeless block. I am ruined! wept the woman As she fell by Love’s beguiling, For her fate was fierce, inhuman; All hope vanished, sadly smiling, All the chance of reinstatement, Only shame without abatement, Endless shame for fallen woman. After seedtime came the sun, And warm rains of spring caressing, Till the seed that was but one Grew into a tree of blessing, Feeding, shading, emerald-suited Rosy-blossomed, golden-fruited— Joy of all it shone upon. The torn rock lay far and wide, Hammered sore and carved and hollowed Till a temple rose beside, And fair palaces that followed. Power and beauty crowned the portals, Shelter to a race of mortals— Long the rock was glorified. ...

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