No, not from tuning-forks of gold
Take I my key for singing;
From Upper Seats no order bold
Can set my music ringing;
But groans the slave through sense of wrong,
And naught my voice can smother;
As flame leaps up, so leaps my song
For my oppressed brother.
And thus the end comes swift and sure…
Thus life itself must leave me;
For what can these my brothers poor
In compensation give me,
Save tears for ev’ry tear and sigh?–
(For they are rich in anguish).
A millionaire of tears am I,
And mid my millions languish.
(Morris Rosenfeld)
More Poetry from Morris Rosenfeld:
Morris Rosenfeld Poems based on Topics: Sadness, Singing, Brothers, Slavery, Gold- On The Bosom Of The Ocean (Morris Rosenfeld Poems)
- The Jewish May (Morris Rosenfeld Poems)
- The Candle Seller (Morris Rosenfeld Poems)
- In The Factory (Morris Rosenfeld Poems)
- In The Garden Of The Dead (Morris Rosenfeld Poems)
- Sephirah (Morris Rosenfeld Poems)