A hundred years mutely I dwelt in the pit. A hundred years coal I hewed, In a hundred years my shoulders were knit Stiff as if iron-thewed. Coal-dust upon my eyes is smeared, The red from my lips has escaped, And from my hair, from eyebrows, from beard, Coal clings icicle-shaped. Bread with coal is my labor's prize, From toil unto toil I go. Palaces by the Danube arise From my blood and my sweat they grow. A hundred years I was mute in the mine, Who'll requite me those hundred years? When my hammer made them a threatening sign they each began with their jeers. I should keep my wits, in the mine I should stay, For my masters still I should moil -- I swung the hammer -- blood flowed straightway On Polska Ostrava's soil. All ye in Silesia, all ye, I say, Whether Peter your name be or Paul Your breasts ye must gird with steely array And thousands to battle must call; All ye in Silesia, all ye, I say, Ye lords of the mines below; The mines flare and reek, and there comes a day, A day when we'll take what we owe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLACES: 4. EVENING (NAHANT) by SARA TEASDALE THE SEA GYPSY [OR GIPSY] by RICHARD HOVEY STONEWALL JACKSON; MORTALLY WOUNDED AT CHANCELLORSVILLE by HERMAN MELVILLE LITTLE JESUS by FRANCIS THOMPSON IMPRESSION DU MATIN by OSCAR WILDE THE GRASS STEALERS by J. MURRAY ALLISON |