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THE PLATELAYER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Tapping the rails as he went by
Last Line: But he was tired, and it must wait.
Subject(s): Labor & Laborers; Work; Workers


Tapping the rails as he went by
And driving the slack wedges tight,
He walked towards the morning sky
Between two golden lines of light
That dwindled slowly into one
Sheer golden rail that ran right on
Over the fells into the sun.

And dazzling in his eyes it shone,
That golden track, as left and right
He swung his clinking hammer -- ay,
'Twas dazzling after that long night
In Hindfell tunnel, working by
A smoky flare, and making good
The track the rains had torn...
Clink, clink,
On the sound metal -- on the wood
A duller thwack!
It made him blink,
That running gold...
'Twas sixteen hours
Since he'd left home -- his garden smelt
So fragrant with the heavy showers
When he left home -- and now he felt
That it would smell more fresh and sweet
After the tunnel's reek and fume
Of damp warm cinders. 'Twas a treat
To come upon the scent and bloom
That topped the cutting by the wood
After the cinders of the track,
The cinders and tarred sleepers -- good
To lift your eyes from gritty black
Upon that blaze of green and red...
And she'd be waiting by the fence,
And with the baby...
Straight for bed
He'd make, if he had any sense,
And sleep the day; but, like as not,
When he'd had breakfast, he'd turn to
And hoe the back potato-plot:
'Twould be one mass of weeds he knew.
You'd think each single drop of rain
Turned as it fell into a weed.
You seemed to hoe and hoe in vain.
Chickweed and groundsel didn't heed
The likes of him -- and bindweed, well,
You hoed and hoed -- still its white roots
Ran deeper...
'Twould be good to smell
The fresh turned earth, and feel his boots
Sink deep into the brown wet mould,
After hard cinders...
And, maybe,
The baby, sleeping good as gold
In its new carriage under a tree,
Would keep him company, while his wife
Washed up the breakfast-things.
'Twas strange,
The difference that she made to life,
That tiny baby-girl.
The change
Of work would make him sleep more sound.
'Twas sleep he needed. That long night
Shovelling wet cinders underground,
With breaking back, the smoky light
Stinging his eyes till they were sore...

He'd worked the night that she was born,
Standing from noon the day before
All through that winter's night till morn
Laying fog-signals on the line
Where it ran over Devil's Ghyll...

And she was born at half-past nine,
Just as he stood aside until
The Scots Express ran safely by...
He'd but to shut his eyes to see
Those windows flashing blindingly
A moment through the blizzard -- he
Could feel again that slashing snow
That seemed to cut his face.
But they,
The passengers, they couldn't know
What it cost him to keep the way
Open for them. So snug and warm
They slept or chattered, while he stood
And faced all night that raking storm --
The little house beside the wood
For ever in his thoughts: and he,
Not knowing what was happening...

But all went well as well could be
With Sally and the little thing.
And it had been worth while to wait
Through that long night with work to do,
To meet his mother at the gate
With such good news, and find it true,
Ay, truer than the truth.
He still
Could see his wife's eyes as he bent
Over the bairn...
The Devil's Ghyll
Had done its worst, and he was spent;
But he'd have faced a thousand such
Wild nights as thon, to see that smile
Again, and feel that tender touch
Upon his cheek.
'Twas well worth while
With such reward. And it was strange,
The difference such a little thing
Could make to them -- how it could change
Their whole life for them, and could bring
Such happiness to them, though they
Had seemed as happy as could be
Before it came to them.
The day
Was shaping well. And there was she,
The lassie sleeping quietly
Within her arms, beside the gate.

The storm had split that lilac tree.
But he was tired, and it must wait.





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