Sanctuary

 This is the bricklayer; hear the thud 
Of his heavy load dumped down on stone.
 
His lustrous bricks are brighter than blood, 
His smoking mortar whiter than bone.


Set each sharp-edged, fire-bitten brick 
Straight by the plumb-line's shivering length; 
Make my marvelous wall so thick 
Dead nor living may shake its strength.


Full as a crystal cup with drink 
Is my cell with dreams, and quiet, and cool.
 .
 .
 .
 
Stop, old man! You must leave a chink; 
How can I breathe? You can't, you fool!

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