BREAD AND ROSES

(by James Oppenheim)

As we go marching, marching, 
  in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, 
  a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance 
  that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: 
  Bread and Roses! Bread and Roses!

As we go marching, marching, 
  we battle too for men,
For they are women's children, 
  and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated 
  from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; 
  give us bread, but give us roses.

As we go marching, marching, 
  unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing 
  their ancient call for bread.
Small art and love and beauty 
  their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for, 
  but we fight for roses too.

As we go marching, marching, 
  we bring the greater days,
The rising of the women 
  means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler, 
  ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life's glories: 
  Bread and roses, bread and roses.

Our lives shall not be sweated 
  from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; 
  bread and roses, bread and roses. 

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