To make a dresser the good master here
Has ceaseless toiled since dawn with weary strain,
Handling by turns the chisel and the plane,
The grating rasp and smoothing polisher.

With pleasure hence he sees, toward eve, draw near
The lengthening shadow of the great platane,
Where blessed Mary and her mother Saint Anne,
With Jesus nigh them, go for restful cheer.

The parching air stirs not the leaves at all;
And Joseph, sore fatigued, his gouge lets fall,
As with his apron he would dry his face;

While the pure Prentice, in a glory's fold,
Makes alway, in the shop's obscurest place,
Fly from the cutting edge his chips of gold.