Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
Ballad of Dead GirlsDana Burnet
S
Across the withered floor
Than Max Rogosky thundered at
The District Leader’s door.
To search the fearful noon
Than little Max stood shivering
In Tom McTodd’s saloon.
Beside the silver bar,
Where any honest lad may stand
And sell his vote at par.
(The words fell quivering, raw),
“And now I want the thing I bought—
Protection from the law.”
“Your doors were locked,” he said.
“You’ve overstepped the limit, Max—
A hundred women … dead!”
And shivered where he stood.
“You listen now to me,” he cried,
“Like business fellers should.
I’ve paid, I’ve paid, I’ve paid …”
His ragged laughter rang, and died—
For he was sore afraid.
I’ve paid to strain my floors,
I’ve paid for rotten fire-escapes,
For all my bolted doors.
I crossed their hands with gold,
And now I want the thing I bought,
The thing the System sold.”
With whisky from the bar;
(The little silver counter where
He bought men’s souls at par.)
The thing that he had sold.
Else men should doubt the System’s word,
Keep back the System’s gold.
“A hundred women—dead!
I guess the Boss can fix it up;
Go home—and hide,” he said.
All day they brought the bodies down
From Max Rogosky’s place.
And, oh, the fearful touch of flame
On hand and breast and face!
To search the sheeted dead,
And Horror strode the blackened walls
Where Death had walked in red.
(He knew that tears were vain);
He paid the System’s price, and lived
To lock his doors again.