Broken Column—Sudden and Violent Death

Too soon, too soon, alas! for earth and us,
The temple yet unfinished, he is gone;
Weep, Craftsmen, not for him,—is not his fame
Secure?—but for the stricken mourners left.
Who, now, on tracing board, shall wisely draw
The strange device that binds the finished work
With the undone, making a perfect Fane,
By closing up in one the Grand Design?
Fallen the stroke, the inexorable blow,
Too soon, too soon, alas! for earth and us.
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