---

Harriet Monroe - The Turbine
Work rating: Low

To W. S. M. 


Look at her—there she sits upon her throne 
As ladylike and quiet as a nun! 
But if you cross her—whew! her thunderbolts 
Will shake the earth! She`s proud as any queen,
The beauty—knows her royal business too, 
To light the world, and does it night by night 
When her gay lord, the sun, gives up his job. 
I am her slave; I wake and watch and run 
From dark till dawn beside her. All the while 
She hums there softly, purring with delight 
Because men bring the riches of the earth 
To feed her hungry fires. I do her will 
And dare not disobey, for her right hand 
Is power, her left is terror, and her anger 
Is havoc. Look—if I but lay a wire 
Across the terminals of yonder switch 
She`ll burst her windings, rip her casings off, 
And shriek till envious Hell shoots up its flames, 
Shattering her very throne. And all her people, 
The laboring, trampling, dreaming crowds out there—
Fools and the wise who look to her for light— 
Will walk in darkness through the liquid night, Submerged.

Sometimes I wonder why she stoops 
To be my friend—oh yes, who talks to me 
And sings away my loneliness; my friend, 
Though I am trivial and she sublime. 
Hard-hearted?—No, tender and pitiful, 
As all the great are. Every arrogant grief 
She comforts quietly, and all my joys 
Dance to her measures through the tolerant night.
She talks to me, tells me her troubles too, 
Just as I tell her mine. Perhaps she feels 
An ache deep down—that agonizing stab 
Of grit grating her bearings; then her voice 
Changes its tune, it wails and calls to me
To soothe her anguish, and I run, her slave, 
Probe like a surgeon and relieve the pain.

We have our jokes too, little mockeries 
That no one else in all the swarming world 
Would see the point of. She will laugh at me 
To show her power: maybe her carbon packings 
Leak steam, and I run madly back and forth 
To keep the infernal fiends from breaking loose:
Suddenly she will throttle them herself 
And chuckle softly, far above me there, 
At my alarms. 

But there are moments—hush!— 
When my turn comes; her slave can be her master,
Conquering her he serves. For she`s a woman, 
Gets bored there on her throne, tired of herself,
Tingles with power that turns to wantonness. 
Suddenly something`s wrong—she laughs at me, 
Bedevils the frail wires with some mad caress 
That thrills blind space, calls down ten thousand 
To ruin her pomp and set her spirit free. 
Then with this puny hand, swift as her threat, 
Must I beat back the chaos, hold in leash 
Destructive furies, rescue her—even her— 
From the fierce rashness of her truant mood, 
And make me lord of far and near a moment, 
Startling the mystery. Last night I did it— 
Alone here with my hand upon her heart 
I faced the mounting fiends and whipped them down;
And never a wink from the long file of lamps 
Betrayed her to the world.

So there she sits,
Mounted on all the ages, at the peak 
Of time. The first man dreamed of light, and dug
The sodden ignorance away, and cursed 
The darkness; young primeval races dragged 
Foundation stones, and piled into the void 
Rage and desire; the Greek mounted and sang 
Promethean songs and lit a signal fire; 
The Roman bent his iron will to forge 
Deep furnaces; slow epochs riveted 
With hope the secret chambers: till at last 
We, you and I, this living age of ours, 
A new-winged Mercury, out of the skies 
Filch the wild spirit of light, and chain him there 
To do her will forever.
 
Look, my friend,
Behold a sign! What is this crystal sphere— 
This little bulb of glass I lightly lift, 
This iridescent bubble a child might blow 
Out of its brazen pipe to hold the sun— 
What strange toy is it? In my hand it lies 
Cold and inert, its puny artery— 
That curling cobweb film—ashen and dead. 
But see—a twist or two—let it but touch 
The hem, far trailing, of my lady`s robe, 
And lo, the burning life-blood of the stars 
Leaps to its heart, that glows against the dark, 
Kindling the world. 

Even so I touch her garment, 
Her servant through the quiet night; and thus 
And feel their throb of fire. Grandly she gives 
To me unworthy; woman inscrutable, 
Scatters her splendors through my darkness, leads me
Far out into the workshop of the worlds. 
There I can feel those infinite energies 
Our little earth just gnaws at through the ether, 
And see the light our sunshine hides. Out there 
Close to the heart of life I am at peace.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.