| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Miner | | By Maxwell Bodenheim |
| | | THOSE on the top say they know you, Earth—they are liars. | |
| You are my father, and the silence I work in is my mother. | |
| Only the son knows his father. | |
| We are alike—sweaty, inarticulate of soul, bending under thick knowledge. | |
| I drink and shout with my brothers when above you— | 5 |
| Like most children we soon forget the parents of our souls. | |
| But you avidly grip us again—we pay for the little noise of life we steal. | | | | |
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