I.

The moon is round and big, and full
Of something strange and beautiful:

Pensive and pale, she seems to lie,
Couched in the comfortable sky,

Wistfully watching all among
The stars, and troubled for her young.

II.

The Joiner's wife is big, and full
Of something strange and beautiful:

Patient and still and pale she lies,
A tender terror in her eyes,

Wistfully, through the workshop door,
Counting his footsteps on the floor.

III.

A restless and a troubled ray
Hath vexed the Joiner's eye all day,

As fretful firelight flickers o'er
The chambers of the sick and poor;

But Love fills with religious light
The chapel of his thoughts to-night,

And consecrated tapers shine
Above, before, around the shrine.

His words are few and low and mild,
As careful for a sleeping child.

No cunning in his craft of late:
Compass and plumb and rule must wait,

Till the Unerring Skill hath done
The work his daring love begun.

IV.

Two figures cross the Joiner's sill,
Two prophecies, of Good and Ill;

One paler, colder than the moon,
The other like an April noon;

Two odors — this of churchyard mould,
That as when fragrant buds unfold:

V.

" Good master, by your leave, you see
Two joiners faring piteously.

" Weary and famished, cold and sore,
Warmth, rest, refreshment, we implore;

" So, master, be your roof-tree blest
In coming and in parting guest,

" And we your pity will requite
With nimble handicraft to-night. "

VI.

" Well done! " The strangers' hammers ring
In measure to strange tunes they sing;

A dirge, a cradle-hymn they try,
A requiem and a lullaby.
VII.

The moon is gone, her place all dark,
Where late she lay one struggling spark!

And she is " parting: " her vacant breast
But coldly welcomes " the coming guest; "

But they finished their work ere they went their way,
A coffin grim and a cradle gay.