He never feared to pry the stable stone
That loving lichens clad with silvery gray;
Torn ivies trembled as they slipped away,
Their empty arms now loose and listless blown.
Then turning, with that ardor all his own,
“Behold, my better building!” he would say.
“I rear as well as raze: nor by decay
Nor foe nor fire can this be overthrown!”
What was it? Had he keener sight than we?
We saw the ruin, more we could not see;
His blocks were jasper air, a dream his plan.
We called him, Stormer; ever he replied,
“Unbroken calm within my breast I hide.”
Now God be judge betwixt us and this man!