I, on the lintel of this cot, inscribe
The name of a strong tower.


XXXV - SKERRYVORE: THE PARALLEL


Here all is sunny, and when the truant gull
Skims the green level of the lawn, his wing
Dispetals roses; here the house is framed
Of kneaded brick and the plumed mountain pine,
Such clay as artists fashion and such wood
As the tree-climbing urchin breaks. But there
Eternal granite hewn from the living isle
And dowelled with brute iron, rears a tower
That from its wet foundation to its crown
Of glittering glass, stands, in the sweep of winds,
Immovable, immortal, eminent.


XXXVI


MY HOUSE, I say. But hark to the sunny doves
That make my roof the arena of their loves,
That gyre about the gable all day long
And fill the chimneys with their murmurous song:
OUR HOUSE, they say; and MINE, the cat declares
And spreads his golden fleece upon the chairs;
And MINE the dog, and rises stiff with wrath