Walter Rose

“No gaslight ever lit his shop; He had no wheels to start and stop; No hot, metallic engines there Disturbed the shaving-scented air; His hands were engines, and his eye His gauge to measure beauty by … How gently time went by for him Up in that workshop! which grew dim At sunset time: and then he’d lay His chisels down, and sweep away The chips and shavings of the day; But left upon the bench no less Than that day’s gain in comeliness; Then shut the door, and slowly went Under the rose to bed, content.”
― Walter Rose, The Village Carpenter: The Classic Memoir of the Life of a Victorian Craftsman