Dump it on an ash-heap

Then—O then, be still.

Sit and watch your new house.

Leave an open door.

A strange guest will enter it

And never leave it more.

47

47

She will make your raw wood

Mellower than gold.

She will take your new lamps

And sell them for old.

She will crumble all your pride,

Break your folly down.

Much that you rejected

She will bless and crown.

She will rust your naked roof,

Split your pavement through,

Dip her brush in sun and moon

And colour it anew.

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