Never space its petals to unfold. How
Childhood’s tender bud was crushed and trampled
Down in mire and filth too evil, foul, for beasts
To be partakers in. For gold I saw
The virgin sold, and motherhood was made
A mock and scorn.
I saw the fruit of labor
Torn away from him who toiled, to further
Swell the bursting coffers of the rich, while
Babes and mothers pined and died of want.