Classic Poem

Huge lumber mills across the lake
Glitter with lights, the night-shift's on.
Toilers for me strange beauty make
Betwixt these twilights wan.

Grey sky above, grey lake below,
Even the west to-night is grey,
But there the great mill windows glow,
And make the dull night gay.

O if I may not share your toils,
Ye men whose patient strength is gold
From lands of dream some fairy spoils
I'd bring your hearts to hold.