What right have you to call them yours,
And in brute lust of riches burn
Without some radiant penance wrought,
The wide street roars and mutters --
We know it works because it must --
"Dirt is everlasting. -- We never, never fear it.
Toil is never ceasing. -- We will play until we near it.
Tears are never ending. -- When once real tears have come;