Leave him now quiet by the way To rest apart. I know what draws him to the dust alway And churns him in the builder's lime: He has the fright of time. I heard it knocking in his breast A minute since; His human eyes did wince, He stubborned like the ma**ive slaughter beast And as a thing o'erwhelmed with sound Stood bolted to the ground. Leave him, for rest alone can cure— If cure there be— This waif upon the sea. He is of those who slanted the great door And listened—wretched little lad— To what they said.