<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=358155" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Joy in the Woods</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is joy in the woods just now,<br> The leaves are whispers of song,<br>And the birds make mirth on the bough<br> And music the whole day long,<br>And God! to dwell in the town<br> In these springlike summer days,<br>On my brow an unfading frown<br> And hate in my heart always—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A machine out of gear, aye, tired,<br>Yet forced to go on—for I’m hired.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just forced to go on through fear,<br> For every day I must eat<br>And find ugly clothes to wear,<br> And bad shoes to hurt my feet<br>And a shelter for work-drugged sleep!<br> A mere drudge! but what can one do?<br>A man that’s a man cannot weep!<br> Suicide? A quitter? Oh, no!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But a slave should never grow tired,<br>Whom the masters have kindly hired.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But oh! for the woods, the flowers<br> Of natural, sweet perfume,<br>The heartening, summer showers<br> And the smiling shrubs in bloom,<br>Dust-free, dew-tinted at morn,<br> The fresh and life-giving air,<br>The billowing waves of corn<br> And the birds’ notes rich and clear:—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For a man-machine toil-tired<br>May crave beauty too—though he’s hired</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Claude+McKay">Claude McKay</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=358155" data-title="Joy in the Woods de Claude McKay" data-description="There is joy in the woods just now, The leaves are whispers of song, And the birds make mirth on the bough And music the whole day long, And God! to dwell in the town In these springlike summer days, On my brow an unfading frown And hate in my..."></div> </div> </div>

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