In The Workshop.

Once in the Workshop, ages ago,     The clay was wet and the fire was low.     And He who was bent on fashioning man     Moulded a shape from a clod,     And put the loyal heart therein;     While another stood watching by.     "What's that?" said Beelzebub.     "A lover," said God.     And Beelzebub frowned, for he knew that kind.     And then God fashioned a fellow shape     As lithe as a willow rod,     And gave it the merry roving eye     And the range of the open road.     "What's that?" said Beelzebub.     "A vagrant," said God.     And Beelzebub smiled, for he knew that kind.     And last of all God fashioned a form,     And gave it, what was odd,     The loyal heart and the roving eye;     And he whistled, light of care.     "What's that?" said Beelzebub.     "A poet," said God.     And Beelzebub frowned, for he did not know.