Classic Poem

'Tis my darling I hear!
His hammer he's swinging,
His strokes are out-ringing,
Their music is stealing
(Like bells that are pealing)
Through streets far and near.

In the dark forge at night
Oft rests he to ponder;
Then past it I wander,
The bellows 'gin roaring,
The flames begin soaring
And clothe him with light.