The smith

The evening darkens,

the smith, he hammers

still more valiantly and fresh;

and about him roars

and about him rushes

the hiss of the chimney.

The flames crackle,

the irons rattle,

the hammer, it jumps,

the sparks spray,

the irons glow,

the anvil sounds.

With bare arms

stands in the clamor

the sooty smith,

and through the clatter

and through the rattle

sounds his song:

The evening darkens,

I have hammered

with sprightly courage;

the sun sinks,

and silence comes,

now I'll slumber well.