The miner's rÔle is not for me;

These manual jobs I always shun;

In the bright realm of Poesy

My thrilling daily task is done.

My songs are wild with beauty. This is one.

Yet has the miner, not the bard,

A life that runs in pleasant ways;

His labour may be pretty hard,

But, when compared with mine, it pays.

Scant the reward of my exhausting days.

I bear no grudge. I don't object

To watch his wages soaring high,

If, as I'm told, we may expect

To see him resolutely ply

His task with greater vigour. So must I.

Up, Muse, and get your wings unfurled!

My rhymes at double speed must flow;

Now, from this hour, the astonished world

Must see my output daily grow.

And why? I want some coal—a ton or so.

Coal is my greatest need, the crest

And pinnacle of my desires;

And as I toil with feverish zest

'Twill be the dream of blazing fires

That spurs me to my labour and inspires.

I wonder if the miner too

Has visions in his dark abyss

Which urge him on to hack and hew

That he may so achieve the bliss

Of buying great and deathless songs (like this).