Voices from the Past: Three Poems by Viroqua Daniels

I have written a brief sketch of the life of Viroqua Daniels, an accomplished writer and poet who has been all but forgotten. The following three poems reflect her meditative, often conversational style of expressing an incisive critique of authority, submission, and “anticipatory obedience.”

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"---, The Dream is Thine."

Ah! dreams are such unstable things, 
Like shadows cast by brinded wings, 
Or echoes, soft, from yonder hills, 
That half the words forget! 
Unstable, yet how real were they- 
The dreams of men who lived, we say, 
Before their time; whose hearts, whose wills, 
In dreams the Future met. 
Is Nature a deformity? 
Is Man her one abnormity? 
The visionary answered, Nay! 
Today his tones we hear 
Reverberate in cadence sweet; 
Add Freedom! Freedom! and repeat. 
We eagerly take up the lay.
The multitude, in fear, 
With ear attuned to harsher sound, 
A moment listens-spell-bound, 
Then scoff at music, vision, all- 
Ha! ha! What—Rags be free?
Not subject to authority?
Nor longer grant priority 
To Man sublime? Nor creep, nor crawl, 
Nor bow to his decree? 
If he the Face Divine hath seen, 
Held converse with the Lord, I ween, 
To him devoutly we'll submit 
Our treasures, labor, lives.
Aye, “if,” ye myriads of men; 
The Dreamer questioned "ifs", and then
The searching torch he brightly lit- 
'Twas damped by breath of Dives.
Unchangable, unstable Dream!
Fire cannot thee consume, it seems, 
Nor prison walls thy form confine, 
Nor leaden bullets quell 
Thy riotous propensities! 
Haste—measure the Immensities, 
For, outcast Fairy, thou art mine! 
I’ll hearken to thee tell 
Of Progress, not o'er paths laid waste 
By force perverted, lives debased,
Attracted by the glitt'ring froth 
Of human dignities,
As moth to candle's searching light; 
But o'er the pathless plain and height 
Of earth, born of unplighted troth 
Of countless Entities.
Then, man shall be himself—not less; 
Refuse, with laughter, to confess 
His sins to one by fees upraised 
To elevated seat; 
Decline, disdainfully, to plead, 
"Not guilty" to alleged misdeed; 
Probe mysteries, and, unamazed, 
His fellow mortals meet, 
The Personality shall be 
A birthright of manhood made free.
Self-abnegation, sacrifice, 
Of virtue shall be shorn.
The Great shall work his bread to earn; 
The Small shall trim his lamp to burn. 
By force of arms, nor artifice, 
Shall egos be upbourne.
The Weak, the Strong, their strength shall give 
In unison that all may live.
Vile Competition's savage strife
For wealth and nower shall cease
Man's pride in domineering man, 
En masse or singly, which began 
In dark primeval times, true lives 
Abhor. We shall have Peace.
	"The dream is thine"-thrice welcome dream! 
By thy unstable, steady beam, 
Elusive, beautiful as bright, 
The Future challenge we; 
Its borders, dank with dire distress; 
Revenge—for folly claims redress; 
Beyond, we see the mountain heights 
Of Peace, Eternity!

In this poem, published in Firebrand, May 5, 1895, Daniels meditates on the power of dreams—specifically, the dream of human liberation. She celebrates progress, individual dignity, mutual aid and cooperation while rejecting the oppressive forces of authority, competition, and subjugation. The poem is also a lament because dreams are transitory, though Daniels insists on their enduring power to inspire revolutionary change.

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Do For Others

The little mind thinks on—itself; 
The Great one nobly smothers 
All separations for itself, 
To freely do—for others.

Now isn't that philosophy quite queer? 
       I will study it a bit, 
      And if it fail to fit 
My logic, somthing's wrong with it I fear!

The words as written, he who runs may read; 
      And if they strike all men 
      With favor, why, what then? 
A very HUMBLE set of folks indeed!

For each of us if left to figure out 
      Our mental worth, and weight, 
      Would hardly understate 
The numbers that we wished to hand about;

And none of us would want them to be small! 
      We 'd scarcely estimate 
      Ourselves at less than "Great;" 
But, says the verse, the "Great" themselves
			enthrall!

My! what a pretty pickle to be in! 
      Is suicide of mind 
      A credit to mankind? 
And after that, to kill the body, sin?

Perhaps I misconstrue the leading thought;
      I would in all ways fair,
      Expose its meanig, rare,
For th’ wordy net full many minds has
			caught,

We may prepare a person's bread and meat; 
      Much time at tissue waste, 
      To cater to his taste, 
But after all, we cannot for him eat!

Each one must build his body; that we know. 
      We may bedeck the form, 
       But through sweat or storm, 
We never, never can for others grow.

We may a proposition put before
       A weak or serious mind; 
       It for itself must find 
The truth error that is therein stored!

To do for others unnecessary things,--
       Those they themselves might do, 
       The fiddle—faddles, too,--
Is t' yield to guidance of despotic strings.

Did self-infliction of submission's scourge 
       Ever dignify the effect? 
       Is not a wreck a wreck? 
Can any good from slavery emerge?

Self-sacrific! Contanimating thought! 
       To "freely give and take" 
       will reciprocally wake 
The better impulses men long have sought.

This poem was published in Firebrand, January 19, 1896. Daniels critiques the concept of self-sacrifice and uncritical altruism. Is someone’s “greatness” defined by someone’s selflessness? If self-sacrifice were universally accepted, she argues, it would lead to a paradox where all individuals devalue themselves, leading to a kind of “suicide of mind.” Blind devotion is harmful and too close to outright servitude; instead a form of reciprocal giving and taking is much healthier and perhaps necessary. As in all her writings, Daniels prioritizes personal autonomy and voluntary cooperation over imposed duty.

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The Universal Strike

Strike, workers, strike! Embrace all trades, all lands! 
Your lowly place, Old System's rotten bands. 
Invite you change for one wherein you find 
No stunting force for body or for mind.

Strike, workers, strike! Aye, aye! for FREEDOM first! 
You MUST succeed if slav'ry's chains, accurst, 
You batter off and fling them rattling down. 
Care not a straw for Power's appeal or frown!

Strike, workers, strike Authority's death blow! 
His shams, and strength, and weakness boldly show; 
His double face, his gross hypocrisy;
The blackness of "Blue Aristocracy!"

Strike, workers, strike! Aged Might's histr'onic mask 
Presume to rend! Though graceless be the task, 
His tinsel strip, and hiss him from the stage, 
And bravely dare his bluffing, bawling rage!

Strike, workers, strike against "the powers that be”!
With "ropes of sand" they bind you merrily. 
'Tis you, I say, can make them fall apart; 
With FREEDOM's balm, cure ev'ry chafing's smart.

Strike, workers, strike! Not with a beastly lunge! 
Prepare all crafts to make the fateful plunge! 
Your backs to ghosts; they from the past are staiking! 
Like freed men act! Away with sullen balking!

Strike, workers, strike! With purposeful intent! 
Consult YOURSELVES! Let not your WILLS be bent 
By dominance of bosses or of leaders! 
They're proven, all, a host of shameless bleeders.

Strike workers, strike for more than meagre wage,
Which may, the while, your stagnant lifeblood gauge;
A pittance, Might, reluctantly gives o'er, 
Still driving you to multiply his store.

Strike, workers, strike for more than lessened hours 
Of toil! Your rights? Full use of all your powers! 
Your pay? THE EARTH! Ignore your one time masters! 
Accept from them no promises, no plasters!

Strike, workers, strike! Then Poverty no more 
On your advance shall slam and bar the door. 
But name the hour, and, presto! ev'ry man, 
Outcast, before, tears off the hated ban.

Strike, workers, strike! The Order of today 
Is stale with age and foul with swift decay. 
Will you still bow to worship ancestry, 
When choice you have 'twixt Freedom, Tyranny?

Strike, workers, strike! If "might makes right,"—
		why, see!--
There is no power that can more mighty be 
Than chainless men self-consciously advancing. 
Oh! blissful truth! Is fiction more entrancing?

Strike, workers, strike! The world, if you but say it, 
Is all your own. Use Custom but to flay it! 
What can resist your free cooperation? 
The Past is dead;--then welcome Innovation! 

This is Daniels’ rousing call for for workers to reject oppression, embrace their collective power, and seize control of their destinies. As an anarchist, Daniels urges workers to go beyond asking for concessions regarding wages and hours, and mount an assault on the entire system. She demands a radical repudiation of hierarchy and economic exploitation. She urges the workers to tear down the “histrionic masks” and expose their rulers as mere frauds. Workers should distrust hierarchical leadership, even within socialist movements. Daniels insists that workers must rely on themselves, rejecting both capitalist bosses and self-proclaimed labor leaders. “The Universal Strike” was published in Free Society, February 10, 1901.