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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=576176" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Factories</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have shut my little sister in from life and light <br>(For a rose, for a ribbon, for a wreath across my hair), <br>I have made her restless feet still until the night, <br>Locked from sweets of summer and from wild spring air; <br>I who ranged the meadow lands, free from sun to sun, <br>Free to sing and pull the buds and watch the far wings fly, <br>I have bound my sister till her playing-time is done - <br>Oh, my little sister, was it I? - was it I? <br>I have robbed my sister of her day of maidenhood <br>(For a robe, for a feather, for a trinket's restless spark), <br>Shut from Love till dusk shall fall, how shall she know good, <br>How shall she pass scatheless through the sinlit dark? <br>I who could be innocent, I who could be gay, <br>I who could have love and mirth before the light went by, <br>I have put my sister in her mating-time away - <br>Sister, my young sister, - was it I? - was it I? <br>I have robbed my sister of the lips against her breast <br>(For a coin, for the weaving of my children's lace and lawn), <br>Feet that pace beside the loom, hands that cannot rest, <br>How can she know motherhood, whose strength is gone? <br>I who took no heed of her, starved and labor-worn, <br>I against whose placid heart my sleepy gold heads lie, <br>Round my path they cry to me, little souls unborn, <br>God of Life - Creator! It was I! It was I!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Margaret+Widdemer">Margaret Widdemer</a><div class=q>
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<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=576176" data-title="The Factories de Margaret Widdemer" data-description="I have shut my little sister in from life and light 
(For a rose, for a ribbon, for a wreath across my hair), 
I have made her restless feet still until the night, 
Locked from sweets of summer and from wild spring air; 
I who ranged the meadow la..."></div>
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