O'ercome of beauty,
With heart impatience brimming to the brink
Of courteous duty,—
He smote my marbles many a murderous blow,
His weapon poising;
I, in my wrath and wonderment of woe,
No comment voicing.
"Come, sweep this rubbish from the workman's way,
Wreck of past ages,—
Afford me here a lump of harmless clay,