But that by frost when dawn was dim
The method was disclosed to him.
“Yet,” said the townspeople thereat,
“’Tis your own doing, even with that!”
But he—chafed, childlike, in extremes—
The temperament of men of dreams—
Aloofly scrupled to admit
That he did aught but borrow it,
And diffidently made request
That with the abbot all should rest.
—As none could doubt the abbot’s word,
Or question what the church averred,
The mason was at length believed
Of no more count than he conceived,
And soon began to lose the fame
That late had gathered round his name . . .
—Time passed, and like a living thing
The pile went on embodying,
And workmen died, and young ones grew,
And the old mason sank from view