Thou still unravish'd bride of newness,
Thou foster-child of style and design,
Swedish sage, who canst thus express
A glassy tale more clear than our rhyme:
What bubbles in the material haunt about thy shape
Of factories or workers, or of both,
In Poland or the dales of India?
What plastics or cloths are these? What metals loth?
What bouncing light? What struggle to shine?
What wires and bulbs? What wild electricity?