Page:The Man Who Died Twice (1924).djvu/39

 Could have such choral gold poured down from heaven

When he was young. But there he shook his head

In hopeless pity—not for the doomed, I saw,

But rather for the sanguine ordinary

That sees no devil and so controls itself,

Having nothing in especial to control.

“Hewers of wood,” I said, “and drawers of water

Will always in their innocence be insisting

That your enamel of unrighteousness

Is too thick to be real.” In his changed eyes,

Where the old fire was gone, there was almost

The coming of a smile: “How do you know?”

He answered, asking. “What have you done to know?