Here you will find the Poem Toil of poet Francis William Lauderdale Adams
I TOIL, I toil, as toils a jaded horse Around the ever-changing changeless track From sunrise on to sunset, till the mill, That grinds in flour my heart and soul, is still, And the ropes are loosed, and I may leave my course And silent, alone with the night, go back To misery and the cruel sleep whose breasts, Bitter to suck, give poisoned milk. And this Is my life! And everything attests Hell's fleshless hand that holds me pitiless!
