| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
| |
| 28. The Miner |
| | | By Maxwell Bodenheim |
| |
| |
| THOSE on the top say they know you, Earth—they are liars. | |
| You are my father, and the silence I work in is my mother. | |
| Only the son knows his father. | |
| We are alike—sweaty, inarticulate of soul, bending under thick knowledge. | |
| I drink and shout with my brothers when above you— | 5 |
| Like most children we soon forget the parents of our souls. | |
| But you avidly grip us again—we pay for the little noise of life we steal. | |
| |
|
|
|
