| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Gold | | By Wilfrid Wilson Gibson |
| | | ALL day the mallet thudded, far below | |
| My garret, in an old ramshackle shed | |
| Where ceaselessly, with stiffly nodding head | |
| And rigid motions ever to and fro, | |
| A figure like a puppet in a show | 5 |
| Before the window moved till day was dead, | |
| Beating out gold to earn his daily bread, | |
| Beating out thin fine gold-leaf blow on blow. | |
| |
| And I within my garret all day long | |
| Unto that ceaseless thudding tuned my song, | 10 |
| Beating out golden words in tune and time | |
| To that dull thudding, rhyme on golden rhyme. | |
| But in my dreams all night, in that dark shed, | |
| With aching arms I beat fine gold for bread. | | | | |
|
|
