The buzzer awakes me, and shortly I hear
The three-o'clock shift down the road come clattering;
The noise of their tackety boots ringing clear
On the frozen metal, and young lads chattering,
And whistling and singing, as they go by,
To the undimmed stars of the icy sky.

They pass the house; and I turn in my bed
To slumber again; but the tacketies clattering
Still rings in my brain, and still in my head,
The singing of youth and the whistling and chattering—
Of youth that whistles and sings for a bit
To the winter stars on the way to the pit.