Morris Rosenfeld Poems
Comments about Morris Rosenfeld
In The Factory
Oh, here in the shop the machines roar so wildly,
That oft, unaware that I am, or have been,
I sink and am lost in the terrible tumult;
And void is my soul... I am but a machine.
I work and I work and I work, never ceasing;
Create and create things from morning till e'en;
For what?--and for whom--Oh, I know not! Oh, ask not!
Who ever has heard of a conscious machine?
No, here is no feeling, no thought and no reason;
This life-crushing labor has ever supprest
The noblest and finest, the truest and richest,
The deepest, the highest and humanly best.
A Tear On The Iron
OH, cold and dark is the shop ! I hold the
iron, stand and press ; my heart is weak, I
groan and cough, my sick breast scarcely heaves.
I groan and cough, and press and think;
my eye grows damp, a tear falls ; the iron is hot,
my little tear, it seethes and seethes, and will not