Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine,
⁠This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise!
Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now combine,
⁠Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise!
And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell,
⁠Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things,
Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well,
⁠Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs.

And another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was,
⁠Ay, another and yet another, one crowd but with many a crest,
Raising my rampired walls of gold as transparent as glass,