Poems (Jackson)/The Poet's Forge
THE POET'S FORGE.
E lies on his back, the idling smith, A lazy, dreaming fellow is he;The sky is blue, or the skyis gray,He lies on his back the livelong day,Not a tool in sight; say what they may, A curious sort of a smith is he.The powers of the air are in league with him; The country around believes it well; The wondering folk draw spying near;Never sight nor sound do they see or hear;No wonder they feel a little fear; When is it his work is done so well?
Never sight nor sound to see or hear; The powers of the air are in league with him;High over his head his metals swing,Fine gold and silver to shame the king;We might distinguish their glittering, If once we could get in league with him.
High over his head his metals swing; He hammers them idly year by year,Hammers and chuckles a low refrain:"A bench and book are a ball and chain,The adze is better tool than the plane; What 's the odds between now and next year?"
Hammers and chuckles his low refrain, A lazy, dreaming fellow is he:When sudden, some day, his bells peal out,And men, at the sound, for gladness shout;He laughs and asks what it 's all about; Oh, a curious sort of smith is he!