CALIBAN IN THE COAL MINES
God, we don't like to complain
We know that the mine is no lark—
But—there's the pools from the rain;
But—there's the cold and the dark.
God, You don't know what it is—
You, in Your well-lighted sky,
Watching the meteors whizz;
Warm, with the sun always by.
God, if You had but the moon
Stuck in Your cap for a lamp,
Even You'd tire of it soon,
Down in the dark and the damp.
Nothing but blackness above,
And nothing that moves but the cars—
God, if You wish for our love,
Fling us a handful of stars!
ANY CITY
Into the staring street
She goes on her nightly round,
With weary and tireless feet
Over the wretched ground.
A thing that man never spurns,
A thing that all men despise;
Into her soul there burns
The street with its pitiless eyes.
She needs no charm or wile,
She carries no beauty or power,
But a tawdry and casual smile
For a tawdry and casual hour.