What time the meanest brick and
Take on a beauty not their own,
And past the flaw of builded
Shines the intention whole and good,
And all the little homes of
Rise to a dimmer, nobler span;
When colour's absence gives
To the deeper spirit of the shape,— Then earth's great architecture
Among her mountains and her
Under the moon to
Massive and primitive and rude:— Then do the clouds like silver
Stream out above the tattered crags,
And black and silver all the
Marshalls its hunched and rocky host,
And headlands striding
Buttress the land against the sea,— The darkened land, the brightening wave —And moonlight slants through Merlin's cave.
