And, all on edge, o’erwrought by the crampt day Of crouched, close stitching at her dull machine, It seemed to her a girl of seventeen Should have, at least, an hour of careless talking-- Should have, at least, an hour of life, out walking Beside a lover, mettlesome and gay-- Not through her too short freedom doomed to lag Beside a sparkless giant, glum and grim, Till all her eager youth should waste away. Yet, even as she looked askance at him-- Well-knit, big-thewed, broad-chested, steady-eyed-- She dimly knew of depths she could not sound In this strong lover, silent at her side: And, once again, her heart was touched with pride To think that he was hers, this strapping lad-- Black-haired, close-cropt, clean-skinned, and neatly clad... His crimson neckerchief, so smartly tied-- And hers alone, and more than all she had In all the world to her ... and yet, so grave! If he would only shew that he was glad To be with her--a gleam, a spark of fire, A spurt of flame to shoot into the night, A moment through the murky heavens to wave An eager beacon of enkindling light In answer to her young heart’s quick desire! Yet, though he walked with dreaming eyes agaze, As, deep within a mound of slag, a core Of unseen fire may smoulder many days, Till suddenly the whole heap glow ablaze, That seemed, but now, dead cinder, grey and cold, Life smouldered in his heart. The fire he fed Day-long in the tall furnace just ahead From that frail gallery slung against the sky Had burned through all his being, till the ore Glowed in him. Though no surface-stream of gold Quick-molten slag of speech was his to spill Unceasingly, the burning metal still Seethed in him, from the broken furnace-side To burst at any moment in a tide Of white-hot molten iron o’er the mould... But still he spoke no word as they strolled on Into the early-gathering Winter night: And, as she watched the leaping furnace-light, She had no thought of smouldering fires unseen... The daylong clattering whirr of her machine Hummed in her ears again--the straining thread And stabbing needle starting through her head-- Until the last dull gleam of day was gone...