The Palace

When I was a King and a Mason, a Master Proven and skilled,
I decreed and dug down to my levels presently, under the silt,
There was no worth in the fashion there was no wit in the plan
Hither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran.
Masonry, brute, mishandled, but carven on every stone,
After me cometh a Builder tell him I, too, have known.
Lime I milled of his marbles burned it, slaked it, and spread
Taking and leaving at pleasure the gifts of the humble dead.
I read in the razed foundation the heart of that Builder’s heart.
As he has risen and pleaded, so did I understand
They sent me a Word from the Darkness they whispered and called me aside.
They said, The end is forbidden. They said, Thy use is fulfilled.
Thy Palace shall stand as that other’s, the spoil of a King who shall build.
Only I cut on the timber only I carved on the stone:

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