Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SWEAT-SHOP SLAVES, FR. THE POET IN THE DESERT, by CHARLES ERSKINE SCOTT WOOD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SWEAT-SHOP SLAVES, FR. THE POET IN THE DESERT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I see my white-faced sisters of the foul tenements
Last Line: The devil-dance of the shuttles!
Subject(s): Labor & Laborers; Sweatshops; Women - Employment; Work; Workers; Sweating System; Professional Women; Women In Business; Women's Careers


I see my white-faced sisters of the foul tenements
Stooping over their needles,
Which flash faster than the wings of the dragon-fly,
Or the fangs of the quick-coiling serpent.
Their fingers are yellow, the fingers of the dead;
The thin fingers of those who have died of hunger.
Without pause, not daring to lose a moment,
They snatch at the crust of their starvation,
Bending close above the garments;
And the murmur of their hearts is continually:
"Lest we starve! Lest we starve!"

I see my haggard sisters of the prisoning factories;
Their eyes sunken and their mouths chiseled by grief,
Their yellow hands are the talons of an eagle,
The clamorous looms catch up the souls of the workers
And weave them into cloth;
The souls of submissive women woven into cloth;
The woman, left a husk before the loom.

Oh, the din of the mind-maddening looms,
The devil-dance of the shuttles!





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