See, it stands,
Our seals and our hands,
'I and Thou,
Nevermore!'

We said 'It is best!'
And then, dear, I went
And returned not again.
Forgive that I stir,
Like a breath in thy hair,
The old pain,
'Twas unmeant.
I will strive, I will wrest
Iron peace--it _is_ best.

But, O for thy hand
Just to hold for a space,
For a moment to stand
In the light of thy face;
Translate Then to Now,
To hear 'Is it Thou?'
And reply
'It is I!'
Then, then I could rest,
Ah, then I could wait
Long and late.


XVII