Page:Yeats Responsibilities 1916.djvu/159

Rh A Lake of Spaces, and a Wood of Nothing,

And wander there and drift, and never cease

Wailing for substance.

Pardon me, blessed Angel, I have denied and taught the like to others.

But how could I believe before my sight

Had come to me?

It is too late for pardon.

Had I but met your gaze as now I met it&mdash;

But how can you that live but where we go

In the uncertainty of dizzy dreams