As music that soothingly quavers
Is daytime's far-away roar.
O dusk! In your lulling favours
You steep my spirit once more.
2.* THE STONEHEWER.
—Stonehewer, stonehewer, whitely arrayed,
What art thou building? For whom?
—Ho, do not baulk us intent on our trade,—
From our building a prison will loom.
—Stonehewer, stonehewer, trowel in hand,
Who then will sob in these walls?
—Not you, nor your brother, rich man, understand,
For theft to your lot never falls.
—Stonehewer, stonehewer, who without sleep
Will abide there long hours of the night?
—Maybe my son will,—he toils for his keep.
And such is the close of our plight.
—Stonehewer, stonehewer, then will he think
Of them who laid bricks here of yore!
—Ho, beware! Beneath ladders from jests you should shrink . . .
This we ourselves know, give o'er!
