When the speed comes a-creeping overhead And belts begin to snap and shafts to creak, And the sound dies away of them that speak, And on the glassy floor the tapping tread; When dusty globes on all a pallor shed, And breaths of many wheels are on the cheek; Unwilling is the flesh, the spirit weak, All effort like arising from the dead. But the task ne'er could wait the mood to come; The music of the iron is a law: And as upon the heavy spools that pay Their slow white thread, so ruthlessly the hum Of countless whirling spindles seems to draw Upon the soul, still sore from yesterday. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE VAGABOND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE TO A YOUNG ASS; ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TOMMY [ATKINS] by RUDYARD KIPLING SARAH THREENEEDLES (BOSTON, 1698) by KATHARINE LEE BATES A CHILD'S GRACE by ROBERT BURNS |