I for Implements

What lovely dark, blue flames, O spade,

Shine in thy steel so bright:

See how the shadows smoke and play;

How thou hast laboured, year by year,

To reach this silver day.

But thou, poor shining sword, must wait

Till sloth and idleness

Can tell the world that splendid story:

Nothing but rust, a bloodless rust,

Shall cover thee with glory.