Morris Rosenfeld Poems

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;
...

I have a little boy at home,
A pretty little son;
I think sometimes the world is mine
...

When night and silence deep
Hold all the world in sleep,
As tho' Death claimed the Hour,
By some strange witchery
...

THE terrible wind, the dangerous storm, is
wrestling with a ship on the ocean ; it is trying
to break her, but she in distress cuts through the
...

I've often laughed and oftener still have wept,
A sighing always through my laughter crept,
Tears were not far away...
What is there to say?
...

I lift mine eyes against the sky,
The clouds are weeping, so am I;
I lift mine eyes again on high,
The sun is smiling, so am I.
...

There stands in th' leafless Ghetto
One spare-leaved, ancient tree;
Above the Ghetto noises
It moans eternally.
...

I bend o'er the wheel at my sewing;
I'm spent; and I'm hungry for rest;
No curse on the master bestowing,--
No hell-fires within me are glowing,-- ...
...

WHEN the Lord created our wonderful world,
He asked nobody's advice, and did as He
pleased,
...

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.
...