Modern Poets Poem by Mary Eliza Fullerton

Shall they not praise the cogs,
Praise the pistons and wheels,
And still be poets
To whom appeals
The recurring morn,
The immortal primrose,
And the scent-laden eve
In the marketable corn?

Yea, your footsteps can chime
With the myriad feet,
Finding rhythm and rhyme
On the asphalted street.

There is poetry there
In the whirl and the spin
For the makers of rhyme
Who shall dare to come in.

Life, and struggle and moil,
Day and day in the rough,
Poets knowing not these
Have not knowledge enough.

When the hour swings around
Come and barter and buy;
Come away, come away,
From green earth and blue sky.