Tore through the streets of the city, through the soft, sweet song.
She bade her singers be silent—silent they stood in awe;
She raised the gold from the window; she looked down and saw.
(She leaned and looked on the highway,
She looked down and saw.)
She saw men driven like cattle, she heard the woman's cry,
She saw the white-faced children toil, and the weaklings die.
She saw the bound and the beaten beneath her like shifting sands,
And—she dropped the cloth on her window with her own white hands,
(She shut out her people's crying