Your worship is your furnaces, Which, like old idols, lost obscenes, Have molten bowels; your vision is Machines for making more machines.
Poems of Thirty Years, To Iron-Founders and Others, Constable. 1927
Your worship is your furnaces, Which, like old idols, lost obscenes, Have molten bowels; your vision is Machines for making more machines.
Poems of Thirty Years, To Iron-Founders and Others, Constable. 1927