Although he's not a real live horse, I'm very fond of him; His harness won't take off and on, but still it's new and trim. His tail is hair, he has four legs, but neither hoofs nor heels; I think he'd seem more like a horse without these yellow wheels.
They say that Dapple-grey's not yours, but don't you wish he were? My horse's coat is only paint, but his is soft grey hair; His face is big and kind, like yours, his forelock white as snow-- Shan't you be sorry when you've done his shoes and he must go?
I do so wish, Big Smith, that I might come and live with you; To rake the fire, to heat the rods, to hammer two and two. To be so black, and not to have to wash unless I choose; To pat the dear old horses, and to mend their poor old shoes.
When all the world is dark at night, you work among the stars, A shining shower of fireworks beat out of red-hot bars. I've seen you beat, I've heard you sing, when I was going to bed; And now your face and arms looked black, and now were glowing red.
The more you work, the more you sing, the more the bellows roar; The falling stars, the flying sparks, stream shining more and more. You hit so hard, you look so hot, and yet you never tire; It must be very nice to be allowed to play with fire.
I long to beat and sing and shine, as you do, but instead I put away my horse, and Nurse puts me away to bed. I wonder if you go to bed; I often think I'll keep Awake and see, but, though I try, I always fall asleep.
I know it's very silly, but I sometimes am afraid Of being in the dark alone, especially in bed. But when I see your forge-light come and go upon the wall, And hear you through the window, I am not afraid at all.
I often hear a trotting horse, I sometimes hear it stop; I hold my breath--you stay your song--it's at the blacksmith's shop. Before it goes, I'm apt to fall asleep, Big Smith, it's true; But then I dream of hammering that horse's shoes with you!
They've taken the cosy bed away That I made myself with the Shetland shawl, And set me a hamper of scratchy hay, By that great black stove in the entrance-hall.
I won't sleep there; I'm resolved on that! They may think I will, but they little know There's a soft persistence about a cat That even a little kitten can show.