Page:Yeats Responsibilities 1916.djvu/178

162 How strange he is.

The angel that stood there upon that spot,

Said that my soul was lost unless I found out

One that believed.

Cease mocking at me, Master, For I am certain that there is no God

Nor immortality, and they that said it

Made a fantastic tale from a starved dream

To plague our hearts. Will that content you, Master?

The giddy glass is emptier every moment,

And you stand there, debating, laughing and wrangling.