I'm a sober polyp in a coral prison, Tireless, until the slender spark is spent; My work-gauge is measured with the same precision As his, and stirs the world to less comment. I'm a puffing beaver by a demon driven, Grudging ordered days to dam and dyke and bar, My wet nose is the muck, I may not glimpse heaven, Never, on raised haunches, bellow to a star. I rear bridges, breastworks, delve in earth and water, And break heart and sinew to house homeless dreams Of my kind. I'm hewer, smiter, heaver, carter; I swing iron tools to level heavy beams. For I am of the earth, born to be its lever, A digger of dirt and filth till my muscles swell. I bathe in my own sweat, swampborn like the beaver; Like the polyp, I can never leave my cell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BIT OF SKY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HEGIRA by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DOW BRITT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE VISION by GEORGE SANTAYANA PRELUDE TO A FAIRY TALE by EDITH SITWELL |