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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=407912" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poet's Forge</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He lies on his back, the idling smith, <br>A lazy, dreaming fellow is he; <br>The sky is blue, or the sky is gray, <br>He lies on his back the livelong day, <br>Not a tool in sight, say what they may, <br>A curious sort of smith is he. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The powers of the air are in league with him; <br>The country around believes it well; <br>The wondering folk draw spying near; <br>Never sight nor sound do they see or hear; <br>No wonder they feel a little fear; <br>When is it his work is done so well? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Never sight nor sound to see or hear; <br>The powers of the air are in league with him; <br>High over his head his metals swing, <br>Fine gold and silver to shame the king; <br>We might distinguish their glittering, <br>If once we could get in league with him. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">High over his head his metals swing; <br>He hammers them idly year by year, <br>Hammers and chuckles a low refrain: <br>&quot;A bench and a book are a ball and a chain, <br>The adze is a better tool than the plane; <br>What's the odds between now and next year?&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hammers and chuckles his low refrain, <br>A lazy, dreaming fellow is he: <br>When sudden, some day, his bells peal out, <br>And men, at the sound, for gladness shout; <br>He laughs and asks what it's all about; <br>Oh, a curious sort of smith is he.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Helen+Hunt+Jackson">Helen Hunt Jackson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=407912" data-title="The Poet's Forge de Helen Hunt Jackson" data-description="He lies on his back, the idling smith, 
A lazy, dreaming fellow is he; 
The sky is blue, or the sky is gray, 
He lies on his back the livelong day, 
Not a tool in sight, say what they may, 
A curious sort of smith is he. 

The powers of the air ar..."></div>
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