This job’s the best I’ve done.’ He bent his head <br />Over the golden vessel that he’d wrought. <br />A bird was singing. But the craftsman’s thought <br />Is a forgotten language, lost and dead. <br /> <br />He sighed and stretch’d brown arms. His friend came in <br />And stood beside him in the morning sun. <br />The goldwork glitter’d.... ‘That’s the best I’ve done. <br />‘And now I’ve got a necklace to begin.’ <br /> <br />This was at Gnossos, in the isle of Crete... <br />A girl was selling flowers along the street.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-goldsmith/
