Classic Poem

Out of chaos, out of murk
I arose and did my work;
While the ages changed and sped,
I was toiling for my bread.
Underneath my sturdy blows
Forests fell and cities rose,
And the hard reluctant soil
Blossomed richly from my toil.
Palaces and temples grand
Wrought I with my cunning hand.
Rich indeed was my reward —
Stunted soul and body scarred
With the marks of scourge and rod.
I, the tiller of the sod,
From the cradle to the grave
Shambled through the world — a slave.
Crushed and trampled, beaten, cursed,
Serving best, but served the worst,
Starved and cheated, gouged and spoiled.
Still I builded, still I toiled,
Undernourished, underpaid,
In the world myself had made.
Up from slavery I rise,
Dreams and wonder in my eyes.
After brutal ages past
Coming to my own at last.
I was slave — but I am free!
I was blind — but I can see!
I, the builder, I, the maker,
I, the calm tradition breaker,
Slave and serf and clod no longer,
Know my strength — and who is stronger?
I am done with ancient frauds,
Ancient lies and ancient gods —
All that sham is overthrown.
I shall take and keep my own.
Unimpassioned, unafraid.
Master of the world I've made!