Page:Yeats Responsibilities 1916.djvu/160

144 Know why we doubt? Parting, sickness and death,

The rotting of the grass, tempest and drouth,

These are the messengers that came to me.

Why are you silent? You carry in your hands

God's pardon, and you will not give it me.

Why are you silent? Were I not afraid,

I'd kiss your hands&mdash;no, no, the hem of your dress.

Only when all the world has testified,

May soul confound it, crying out in joy,

And laughing on its lonely precipice.

What's dearth and death and sickness to the soul

That knows no virtue but itself? Nor could it,