Читать книгу The Man with the Hoe, and Other Poems - Edwin Markham - Страница 8

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Little ants in leafy wood,

Bound by gentle Brotherhood,

While ye gaily gather spoil,

Men are ground by the wheel of toil;

While ye follow Blessed Fates,

Men are shriveled up with hates;

Or they lie with sheeted Lust,

And they eat the bitter dust.

Ye are fraters in your hall,

Gay and chainless, great and small;

All are toilers in the field,

All are sharers in the yield.

But we mortals plot and plan

How to grind the fellow-man;

Glad to find him in a pit,

If we get some gain of it.

So with us, the sons of Time,

Labor is a kind of crime,

For the toilers have the least,

While the idlers lord the feast.

Yes, our workers they are bound,

Pallid captives to the ground;

Jeered by traitors, fooled by knaves,

Till they stumble into graves.

How appears to tiny eyes

All this wisdom of the wise?