He does his job without a single thrill Or any vision of the end in view. He toils because his needs compel him to And there is rent to pay and mouths to fill. He gains, in time, a sluggish sort of skill To save his strength, that, when the day is through He may be human for awhile, and do Within his limitations, what he will. He does not know, nor, knowing, would he care That he is vital to all splendid schemes Of grace and beauty. He would dumbly stare If you should tell him he was building dreams In steel and stone. He works because he must; The Drudge without whom all our dreams are dust! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PHILOSOPHER by EMILY JANE BRONTE SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR AT APRIL by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE ON VISITING THE TOMB OF BURNS by JOHN KEATS FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ECLOGUE ON ELIZABETH BELSHAM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ON MRS PRIESTLEY'S LEAVING WARRINGTON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE AUTHOR'S LAST WORDS TO HIS STUDENTS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 42 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |