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Harriet Monroe - The Tower
Work rating: Low

He built a tower for all to see, 
With sun-washed gardens planted wide. 
And there with pomp of pageantry, 
With men-at-arms and minstrelsy 
And moonbeam ladies fair and free, 
He revelled in his pride. 
And there, with soft prayers muttered slow, 
And wind-blown candles burning low, 
And hooded mourners row on row, 
In pomp of peace he died. 

Now time forgets how many a sun 
Above the waste has risen and run 
Since all the feasts were over and done; 
Yet still from rusty pinnacle, 
From cobwebbed pane and broken bell, 
A wind-voice murmurs: Here am I— 
`Twas good to live and die; 
And good to rear these carved stones well 
`Twixt laboring earth and dreaming sky. 
And now `tis good to watch and wait 
While the slow centuries pass in state, 
And make old time my glory tell 
To you who wander by.
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