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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=448084" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fuel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=448084" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What of the silence of the keys<br>And silvery hands? The iron sings…<br>Though bows lie broken on the strings,<br>The fly-wheels turn eternally…</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=448084" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Bring fuel - drive the fires high…<br>Throw all this artist-lumber in<br>And foolish dreams of making things…<br>(Ten million men are called to die.)</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=448084" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">As for the common men apart,<br>Who sweat to keep their common breath,<br>And have no hour for books or art - <br>What dreams have these to hide from death!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Lola+Ridge">Lola Ridge</a></strong></div>

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