ABOVE, in the castle-land, Are the fruits and forests and vines; But here tall chimneys stand Like clumps of desolate pines. Here, from the end of night Till weariness drives them to bed, Men live by the firelight, With iron roofs o'erhead. With never a word or sound Save the scuff of their wooden shoes, They work in a ceaseless round, With little to will or choose. Each man is a link in a chain That drags in a certain groove; Each man is a gear in a train Of wheels that must ever move. 'T is mostly dark with smoke, The patch of sky they see; Their lives are under the yoke Of a mighty industry. Beside the roller's crash Is the silent might of man; Along with the forge's flash They're fashioning what you plan: The blast, the molten flow, The crucible of steel, The ingot's cherry glow, The finished rail and wheel. Away in the distant blue Is the old romance and the wine; Down here in a world that's new Are the knights of the modern Rhine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH FOR A SOLDIER by DAVID IGNATOW A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1809) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |