Poetry Month

A Power Plant
by Harriet Monroe

The invisible wheels go softly round and round---
Light is the tread of brazen-footed Power.
Spirits of air, caged in the iron tower,
Sing as they labor with a purring sounds.
The abysmal fires, grated and chained and bound,
Burn white and still, in swift obedience, cower;
While far and wide and myriad lamps, aflower,
Glow like star-gardens and the night confound.
This we have done for thee, almighty Lord;
Yes, even as they who built at thy command
The pillared temple, or in marble made
Thine image, or who sang thy deathless word.
We take the weapons of thy dread right hand,
And wield them in thy service unafraid.

A poem that could not be written today; there is a whole sense of wonder we don't really have nowadays.

By the way, Harriet Moore was an editor of Poetry magazine at about this time; she also edited this book of Mom's. She may actually have been well-known then. She certainly isn't anymore. Time flies.