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354 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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A little door is hid in the boughs,
A face is hiding within; When birds are silent and oxen drowse
Why should a maiden spin ? Slower and slower turns the wheel,
The face turns red and pale, Brighter and brighter the looks that steal
Along the path to the vale. |
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THE BUILDERS
I
SAW the builders laying Stones on the grassy sod, And people praised them, saying: " A fane to the mighty God Shall rise aloft in glory,
Pillars and arches wide, Windows stained with the story Of Christ the Crucified."
I saw the broken boulders
Lie in the waving grass, Flung down from bending shoulderss.
And said, " Our lives must pass Ere wide cathedral spreading
Can span this mossy field Where kine are slowly treading
And flowers their honey yield.
"Oh, dreaming builders, tarry!
Unchain your souls from toil, Leave the rock in the quarry,
The bloom upon the soil; |
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