Every-Day Life

THE marble-smith, at his morning task,
Merrily glasses the blue-veined stone,
With stout hands circling smooth. You ask,
“ What will it be, when it is done ?
“ A shaft for a young girl’s grave. ” Both hands
Go back with a will to their sinewy play;
And he sings like a bird, as he swaying stands,
A rollicking stave of Love and May.
Andrew Hedbrooke.