Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Blacksmith

“Under a spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands: The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.”

“And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime; Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom.”

“As great Pythagoras of yore, Standing beside the blacksmith's door, And hearing the hammers, as they smote The anvils with a different note, Stole from the varying tones, that hung Vibrant on every iron tongue, The secret of the sounding wire, And formed the seven-chorded lyre.”