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He Buildeth His HouseAuthor(s): Lily A. LongSource: Poetry, Vol. 8, No. 4 (Jul., 1916), p. 183Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20570840 .
Accessed: 19/05/2014 14:22
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HE BUILDETH HIS HOUSE
He hewed him the gray cold rock To make the foundations under.
The walls and the towers should lock Past the power of the earth to sunder,
Then, masking the bastions' frown, Art came, embroidered and gilded
That beauty and joy might crown The palace which power had builded.
God sighed: "Why build so tall Thy prison wall?"
THE POET'S PART
It is a little world where poets dwell A little, hidden world; and few there be Who know its sign or language, or can tell Whence come the visions that the poets see. The great world beats about it heedlessly, With things to win, to own, to buy, to sell, With myriad cares that leave no mortal free, With hopes that spur and bafflements that quell.
Yet ever does the great world in its might Swing onward through the darkness by the light
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This content downloaded from 195.78.109.11 on Mon, 19 May 2014 14:22:14 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
