Donald Davie
Open-Cast Working
Walking through a clayey ride,
Where fields that lately were convulsed
Exhausted rose on either side,
We met our friend, a labouring man
From Collier's Row. The hard-worn coal
Blue-veined his wizened cheeks, an eye
Cocked from an ancient scar. Afar
The hawthorn histories were down
In savaged acres. And nearby,
What rage at disinheritance
Sprang from his wounded eye !
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