over telephones Muffled by Persian padding, gemmed with brass spittoons. Butts of cigars are on the glass topped table, And through the smoke, gracing the furtive Babel, The bishop's picture blesses the picaroons, Who start or stop the life of millions moving Unconscious of obedience, the plastic Yielders to satanic and dynastic Hands of reproaching and approving.  

  

  

      Here come knights armed, But with their arms concealed, And rubber heeled. Here priests and wavering want are charmed.      And shadows fall here like the shark's In messages received or sent. Signals are flying from the battlement. And every president Of rail, gas, coal and oil, the parks, The receipt of custom knows, without a look, Their meaning as the code is in no book. The treasonous cracksmen of the city's wealth Watch for the flags of stealth!  

  

  

      Acres of coal lie fenced along the tracks. Tracks ribbon the streets, and beneath the streets Wires for voices, fire, thwart the plebiscites, And choke the counsels and symposiacs Of dreamers who have pity for the backs That bear and bleed. All things are theirs: tracks, wires, streets and coal, The church's creed, The city's soul, The city's sea girt loveliness, The merciless and meretricious press.  

  

  

      Far up in a watch-tower, where the news is printed, Gray faces and bright eyes, weary and cynical Discuss fresh wonders of the old cabal. But nothing of its work in type is hinted:      Taxes are high! The mentors of the town Must keep their taxes down On buildings, presses, stocks In gas, oil, coal and docks. The mahogany rooms conceal a spider man Who holds the taxing bodies through the church, And knights with arms concealed. The mentors search The spider man, the master publican, And for his friendship silence keep, Letting him herd the populace like sheep For self and for the insatiable desires Of coal and tracks and wires, Pick judges, legislators, And tax-gatherers. Or name his favorites, whom they name:      The slick and sinistral, Servitors of the cabal, For praise which seems the equivalent of fame:      Giving to the delicate handed 

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