Impatient, stung with pain, and long delay,
I chid the rough-hewn stone that round me lay;
I said—“What shelter art thou from the heat?
What rest art thou for tired and way-worn feet?
What beauty hast thou for the longing eye?
Thou nothing hast my need to satisfy!”
And then the patient stone fit answer made—
“Most true I am no roof with welcome shade;
I am no house for rest, or full delight
Of sculptured beauty for the weary sight;