To the Soul of "Progress"
You've made your mind
A millstone to grind
Chaff.
You polish it
And with your warped with
Laugh
At your torso,
Prostrate where the crow
Falls
On such kind hearts
As its god imparts —
Calls
[. . .]
To read Marianne Moore's poem "To the Soul of 'Progress'" in full, visit one of the following location(s) where the anthology in which it was published, Others: An Anthology of the New Verse (1917), has been digitized and made available to the public: