With joinèd hands and parting feet,
The work is wove, and still undone;
But still we tread Time’s measure fleet,
As through the glass the sand is spun.
With linkèd hands and feet that wind
Between the pillars of the day,
Around the house the garland bind,
For spring hath come, we cannot stay.
They passed. A change came o’er the sky.
I heard a shout—I heard a cry.