Morning Work by D.H. Lawrence

A gang of labourers on the piled wet timber / That shines blood-red beside the railway siding / Seem to be making out of the blue of the morning / Something faery and fine, the shuttles sliding,

The red-gold spools of their hands and faces shuttling / Hither and thither across the morn's crystalline frame / Of blue: trolls at the cave of ringing cerulean mining, / And laughing with work, living their work like a game.