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.