L'ENVOI

And they were stronger hands than mine That digged the Ruby from the earth— More cunning brains that made it worth The large desire of a King; And bolder hearts that through the brine Went down the Perfect Pearl to bring. Lo, I have made in common clay Rude figures of a rough-hewn race; For Pearls strew not the market-place In this my town of banishment, Where with the shifting dust I play And eat the bread of Discontent. Yet is there life in that I make,— Oh Thou who knowest, turn and see, As Thou hast power over me, So I have power over these, Because I wrought them for Thy sake, And breathed in them mine agonies. Small mirth was in the making. Now I lift the cloth that clokes the clay, And, wearied, at Thy feet I lay My wares ere I go forth to sell. The long bazar will praise—but Thou— Heart of my heart, have I done well?