And They Were Stronger Hands Than Mine That Digged The Ruby From The Earth, More Cunning Brains That Made It Worth The Large Desire Of A King, And Stouter Hearts That Through The Brine Went Down The Perfect Pearl To Bring. Lo, I Have Wrought In Common Clay Rude Figures Of A Rough-Hewn Race, Since Pearls Strew Not The Market-Place In This My Town Of Banishment, Where With The Shifting Dust I Play, And Eat The Bread Of Discontent. Yet Is There Life In That I Make. 0 Thou Who Knowest, Turn And See, As Thou Hast Power Over Me So Have I Power Over These, Because I Wrought Them For Thy Sake, And Breathed In Them Mine Agonies. Small Mirth Was In The Making, Now I Lift The Cloth That Cloaks The Clay, And, Wearied, At Thy Feet I Lay My Wares, Ere I Go Forth To Sell. The Long Bazaar Will Praise, But Thou, Heart Of My Heart, Have I Done Well?