Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

848

Just as He spoke it from his Hands
This Edifice remain—
A Turret more, a Turret less
Dishonor his Design—

According as his skill prefer
It perish, or endure—
Content, soe’er, it ornament
His absent character.

Previous Poem
Joy To Have Merited The Pain
Next Poem
Kill Your Balm—and Its Odors Bless You