WE heard his hammer all day long On the anvil ring and ring, But he always came when the sun went down To sit on the gate and sing. His little hands so hard and brown Crossed idly on his knee, And straw hat lopping over cheeks As red as they could be; His blue and faded jacket trimmed With signs of work, -- his feet All bare and fair upon the grass, He made a picture sweet. For still his shoes, with iron shod, On the smithy-wall he hung; As forth he came when the sun went down, And sat on the gate and sung. The whistling rustic tending cows, Would keep in pastures near, And half the busy villagers Lean from their doors to hear. And from the time the bluebirds came And made the hedges bright, Until the stubble yellow grew, He never missed a night. The hammer's stroke on the anvil filled His heart with a happy ring, And that was why, when the sun went down, He came to the gate to sing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD; DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878 by SIDNEY LANIER SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RICHARD BONE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A WINTER NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE JOHN BARLEYCORN by ROBERT BURNS |