Factory Windows

by VACHEL LINDSAY (1879-1931)

Factory windows are always broken.
Somebody’s always throwing bricks,
Somebody’s always heaving cinders,
Playing ugly Yahoo tricks.

Factory windows are always broken.
Other windows are left alone.

No one throws through the chapel-window
The bitter, snarling derisive stone.

Factory windows are always broken.
Something or other is going wrong.
Something is rotten — I think, in Denmark.
End of the factory-window song.

“VACHEL is ruddy, sandy- haired, middle-sized, with eyes the color of a green twilight and pale eyebrows surmounted by two remarkable bumps. According to my phrenology, one of these bumps represents love of Springfield, Illinois, and the other love of a square meal with plenty of talk…. He gets on well with everybody, particularly those who know the way to the nearest icebox….” Christopher Morley, The Bookman, Vol. LIII, Mar. 1921 – Aug. 1921

Vachel Lindsay Contemporaries
Sara Teasdale
Carlos Pezoa Véliz
Alfred Noyes
Rainer Maria Rilke