Melancholia
(For an engraving by Albrecht Durer)
So many years I toiled like Caliban
To fetch the stones and earth to build my fane;
So many years I thought before the brain
Reluctant would divulge the final plan.
Years upon years to forge the invented tools
Novel, as all my temple should be new;
Years upon years to fashion and to hew
The stones that should astound a world of fools.
Now shall I build? Cui bono?—lo, the salt
Hath lost its savour and I have no will:
What reck I now of gate or dome or vault?
Among the ruins of the thing undone
I sit and ask myself Cui bono? till
The sun sets, and a bat flies past the sun.
124.
