I have two monuments besides this granite obelisk: <br />One, the house I built on the hill, <br />With its spires, bay windows, and roof of slate; <br />The other, the lake-front in Chicago, <br />Where the railroad keeps a switching yard, <br />With whistling engines and crunching wheels, <br />And smoke and soot thrown over the city, <br />And the crash of cars along the boulevard, -- <br />A blot like a hog-pen on the harbor <br />Of a great metropolis, foul as a sty. <br />I helped to give this heritage <br />To generations yet unborn, with my vote <br />In the House of Representatives, <br />And the lure of the thing was to be at rest <br />From the never-ending fright of need, <br />And to give my daughters gentle breeding, <br />And a sense of security in life. <br />But, you see, though I had the mansion house <br />And traveling passes and local distinction, <br />I could hear the whispers, whispers, whispers, <br />Wherever I went, and my daughters grew up <br />With a look as if some one were about to strike them; <br />And they married madly, helter-skelter, <br />Just to get out and have a change. <br />And what was the whole of the business worth? <br />Why, it wasn't worth a damn!<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lambert-hutchins/
