The Hammers  by Amy Lowell  Amy Lowell   Frindsbury, Kent, 1786
Tap-a-tap! Rap! All through the lead and silver Winter days, All
through the copper of Autumn hazes. Tap to the red rising sun,
Tap to the purple setting sun. Four years pass before the job is
done. Two thousand oak trees grown and felled, Two thousand oaks
from the hedgerows of the Weald, Sussex had yielded two thousand
oaks With huge boles Round which the tape rolls Thirty mortal
feet, say the village folks. Two hundred loads of elm and
Scottish fir; Planking from Dantzig. My! What timber goes into a
ship! Tap! Tap! Two years they have seasoned her ribs on the
ways, Tapping, tapping. You can hear, though there's nothing
where you gaze. Through the fog down the reaches of the river,
The tapping goes on like heart-beats in a fever. The church-
bells chime Hours and hours, Dropping days in showers. Bang!
Rap! Tap! Go the hammers all the time. They have planked up her
timbers And the nails are driven to the head; They have decked
her over, And again