OF my city the worst that men will ever say is this:
You took little children away from the sun and the dew,
And the glimmers that played in the grass under the great sky,
And the reckless rain; you put them between
To work, broken and smothered, for bread and wages,
To eat dust in their throats and die
For a little handful of pay on a few Saturday nights.
Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.
The lyrical form of this poem is unrhyming.3.glimmers: little ones.
