The Chain Gang

  Borne in the car along a crowded way,
  Sun-soaked, I saw the world like shadows glide,
  Or phantom boats, upon a running tide,
  Driven through flying fog at break of day.
  “The chain gang? Yes,” I heard a woman say,
  “Here in this very street.” I glanced aside
  And saw the fetters that she flashed in pride,
  And turned again to watch the world’s array.
  Clearly I saw men scurrying on the hour,
  Young girls who weary all day on dainty feet,
  Dandies whose socks betoken infinite pains,
  The life that springs and withers like a flower:
  I heard the gangs go clanking down the street,
  Intolerably patient of their chains.