Through the cinder-strew’d threshold we follow their motions, The lithe sheer of the waists plays despite having their massive hands, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand therefore sluggish, overhand therefore yes, they don’t hasten, each man strikes inside the spot.
The negro holds firmly the reins of their four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain, The negro that drives the long dray regarding the stone-yard, constant and high he appears pois’d on one leg from the string-piece, His blue top reveals their ample throat and breast and loosens over their hip-band, their look is relaxed and commanding, he tosses the slouch of their cap far from their forehead, the sunlight falls on their crispy hair and mustache, falls regarding the black colored of their polish’d and perfect limbs.