Out from sea-walled Tyre:

Fancies, fugitive and fair,

Flashed with winging through the air;

Till, dazzled by the drowsy glare,

I shut my eyes to heat and light;

And saw, in sudden night,

Crouched in the dripping dark,

With streaming shoulders stark,

The man who hews the coal to feed my fire.

Alton Locke