SWEAT-DRENCHED, and blinded by the heat, he reels Back from the furnace, crawls on deck to win A cooling breath or two, ere plunging down Into his torture-house of Steam. In truth, He earns his heaven, for, fierce hour by hour, He knows the bitterness and bite of hell. What more could heaven do for any soul Than fan a burning brow with airs as bland As those of Arcady, and soothe the eyes With touch of winsome waters, at whose call The seeming dead grow light and labor-strong! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WINTER SLEEP by EDITH MATILDA THOMAS THE MEETING by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE GLOW-WORM by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH LINES PLACED OVER A CHIMNEY-PIECE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE LIFE-POWER by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |