Classic Poem

How is Filippa to live? Will you say,
You lords of finance, who meagerly pay
That your profits may crown you the kings of to-day?
You, whose yachts and whose motors, whose houses and lands
Are bought by the labor of Filippa's hands,
Do you know of a way that the body be fed
Save by bread?
In a world where the price of one's breathing is gold,
Can you tell of a way one may shelter from cold
Save by roofs that are rented for dollars and cents?
Yet you dare to reward with your miserly pence!
Do you dream she could thrive on the pittance you give?
Speak! How is Filippa to live?

How is Filippa to live? Can you tell?
Did you ever go down when misfortune befell?
Are you willing to stand as the pickets of hell
When a frail woman creature is struggling alone
And hunger and lack are a bite in the bone?
You, who fatten and prosper on Filippa's tears,
On her delicate years,
Do you know how the breath can be kept in a man
Without food, without fire? Have you heard of a plan,
Can you tell of a way? Only speak! She will hear,
She will bend, oh, so gladly, her desperate ear.
She is eager to fight on the pittance you give,
Yet — How is Filippa to live?

Filippa is fair and her hands are like lace,
There is love in her heart, there are dreams in her face
As she bends to her task with a beautiful grace.
Filippa is pure as your sister or wife,
Unknowing as they the fierce evil of life,
But her clothing is worn, and her shoes are so thin,
And the price of relief — for Filippa — is sin.
When the soles of her feet
Meet the snow of the street,
And the great primal instinct comes shouting its claim,
Who can frown? Who can blame?
Ah, the beggarly pittance you give —
Think! How is Filippa to live?
Can you look? Do you see? Can you sit at your ease
O sleek money prince, can you live as you please
When you know in your soul you have harmed " one of these " ?

You, who profit while she and her sisters go down,
You, who barter her body to buy you a crown!
Shame, shame on the nation that shelters this wrong
While praising Jehovah with prayer and with song.
And shame to the women who shrug and who sigh,
But offer no help as Filippa goes by.
Why, the whole world of women should rise to demand
That value be paid for the work of her hand;
And the whole world of men should do battle as one
For the sake of all women, till justice is done.

For the crime is not done to Filippa alone —
The whole race must suffer, the race must alone;
And the race, it must fight you, O king, till you give
Filippa a reason to live!