Part 5

I love color. I love flaming reds, And vivid greens, And royal flaunting purples. I love the startled rose of the sun at dawning, And the blazing orange of it at twilight.

I love color. I love the drowsy blue of the fringed gentian, And the yellow of the goldenrod, And the rich russet of the leaves That turn at autumn-time.... I love rainbows, And prisms, And the tinsel glitter Of every shop-window.

I love color. And yet today, I saw a brown little bird Perched on the dull-gray fence Of a weed-filled city yard. And as I watched him The little bird Threw back his head Defiantly, almost, And sang a song That was full of gay ripples, And poignant sweetness, And half-hidden melody.

1 love color.... I love crimson, and azure, And the glowing purity of white. And yet today, I saw a living bit of brown, A vague oasis on a streak of gray, That brought heaven Very near to me.

POSSESSION (A TENEMENT MOTHER SPEAKS)

Y' ain't as pretty as some babies are-- But, oh, yer mine! Yer lil' fingers sorter seem t' twine Aroun' my soul. Yer eyes are bright, t' me, as any star, Yer hair's like gol'.

Some people say yer hair is sandy-red, An' that yer eyes is sorter wan an' pale, An' that yer lil' body looks, well, frail.... Y' ain't been fed Like rich folks children are.... It takes fresh air Ter keep a baby fat an' strong an' pink! It takes more care, 'N I have time ter give.... An' yet, if God'll only let yer live--

When yer first came, An' when I seen yer face, deep down inside My heart I felt--well, sorter broke an' tore, 'Cause when yer came ter me I like ter died, An' I had lost my job, there at th' store. I looked at you, an' oh, it wasn't pride I felt, but bitterness an' shame!

An' then yer gropin' fingers touched my hand, As helpless as a snow-flake in the air, Yer didn't know, yer couldn't understand, ('Cause yer was new t' this cold-hearted land), That life ain't fair! Yer didn't know if I was good, 'r bad, 'R much ter see-- Y' only knew that I belonged, an' oh, Yer trusted me!

Somehow, right there, I didn't stop ter think That yer was white an' thin--instead o' pink, An' that yer lips, an' not yer eyes, was blue... I got t' thinkin' how, when work was through I'd sing t' yer, an' rock yer off t' rest. I got t' thinkin' that I had been blessed, More than th' richest girl I'd ever knew! An' oh, I held yer tight against my breast, An', lookin' far ahead, I dreamed an' planned That I would work th' fingers off my hand Fer you! An' mother-love swept on me like a tide, An', oh, I cried!

Some people say yer hair is sandy-red, But they don't know; They say yer eyes is sorter pale an' weak, But it ain't so! It's jus' because yer never been well fed, An' never had a lil' cribby bed; It's jus' because yer never had a peek At th' blue sky-- That's why!

Yer ain't so pretty as some babies are, But, oh, t' me yer like a silver star That, through th' darkest night can smile an' shine.... Yer ain't as pretty as some babies are, But, God, yer mine!

LIGHTS OF THE CITY

He was young, And his mind Was filled with the science of economics That he had studied in college. And as we talked about the food riots, And high prices, And jobless men, He said: "It's all stupid and wrong, "This newspaper talk! "Folk have no business to starve. "The price of labor always advances, "Proportionally, "With the price of food!"

"Any man," he said, A moment later, "Can earn at least two dollars a day "By working on a railroad, "Or in the street cleaning department! "What if potatoes DO cost "Eight cents a pound? "Wages are high, too.... "People have no reason to starve."

I listened to him prayerfully (More or less), For I had never been to college, And I didn't know much about economics.

But-- As I walked to the window, And looked out over the veiled, mysterious lights Of the city, I couldn't help thinking Of a little baby That I had seen a few days ago; A baby of the slums--thin, and joyless, And old of face, But with eyes Like the eyes of the Christ Child.. .. A baby--crying for bread--

And.... I wondered....

STEEL

They think that we're just animals, almost, We men who work with steel. A lady visitor was here th' other day, She looked at me, an' I could hear her say, "My, what a life! I s'pose his only boast "Is muscles!" She's wrong. We feel A certain pride, a certain sort o' joy, When some great blazin' mass is tamed an' turned Into an engine wheel. Our hands get burned, An' sometimes half our hair is scorched away-- But, well, it's fun! Perhaps you've seen a boy, Who did hard work he loved, an' called it play? Know what I mean? Well, that's the way we feel, We men who work with steel.

A lady visitor was here th' other day; She held her skirts right dainty in her hand, An' as she passed me by, I heard her say, "I wonder what he THINKS--or if his head "Is just a piece o' metal, too!" She said It laughin'-like. She didn't understand, She couldn't know that we have dreams as grand, As any SHE could have. We wonder where Th' rivets that we make are goin' to, An' if th' engine wheels we turn, will go Through tropic heat, or if they'll plow through snow; An' as we watch, we sorter grow to care About th' steel. Why it's as shiny blue As j'ew'ls! An' every bit is, well, a part Of life to us. Sometimes my very heart Thanks God that I've a man-sized job to do!

MUSIC OF THE SLUMS

I. THE VIOLIN-MAKER

Over a slum his sign swings out, Over a street where the city's shout Is deadened into a sob of pain-- Where even joy has a minor strain.

"Violins made," read the sign. It swings Over a street where sorrow sings; Over a street where people give Their right to laugh for a chance to live.

He works alone with his head bent low And all the sorrow and all the woe, And all the pride of a banished race, Stare from the eyes that light his face.

But he never sighs and his slender hand, Fastens the cat-gut, strand by strand-- Fastens it tight, but tenderly As if he dreams of some melody.

Some melody of his yesterday.... Will it, I wonder, find its way Out to the world, when fingers creep Over the strings that lie asleep?