Shall they not praise the cogs, <br />Praise the pistons and wheels, <br />And still be poets <br />To whom appeals <br />The recurring morn, <br />The immortal primrose, <br />And the scent-laden eve <br />In the marketable corn? <br /> <br />Yea, your footsteps can chime <br />With the myriad feet, <br />Finding rhythm and rhyme <br />On the asphalted street. <br /> <br />There is poetry there <br />In the whirl and the spin <br />For the makers of rhyme <br />Who shall dare to come in. <br /> <br />Life, and struggle and moil, <br />Day and day in the rough, <br />Poets knowing not these <br />Have not knowledge enough. <br /> <br />When the hour swings around <br />Come and barter and buy; <br />Come away, come away, <br />From green earth and blue sky.<br /><br />Mary Eliza Fullerton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-poets/
