There little mullions thinly sawn
Where meeting circles once were drawn.
“We knew,” men said, “the thing would go
After his craft-wit got aglow,
“And, once fulfilled what he has designed,
We’ll honour him and his great mind!”
When matters stood thus poised awhile,
And all surroundings shed a smile,
The master-mason on an eve
Homed to his wife and seemed to grieve . . .
—“The abbot spoke to me to-day:
He hangs about the works alway.
“He knows the source as well as I
Of the new style men magnify.
“He said: ‘You pride yourself too much
On your creation. Is it such?
“‘Surely the hand of God it is
That conjured so, and only His!—
“‘Disclosing by the frost and rain
Forms your invention chased in vain;