“What with clangour, clangour of iron din,
Do they beat till daylight ring?
What heat, that I see the night air spin,
And sparks dance over the scaffolding?
“The birds have flown because of their strife
Hammering difficult metal;
Their reek has taken my roses’ life,
Dripping white petal on petal.
“What glows gold taller than earthly tree
In that maze of mast on mast
Of the scaffolding? What can it be
They build so secret and fast?”