V

I see! You would grow as a natural tree, Stand as a rock, soar up like fire. The world 's so perfect and entire, Quite above faith, so right and fit! Go there, walk up and down in it! No. The creation travails, groans-- Contrive your music from its moans, Without or let or hindrance, friend! That 's an old story, and its end As old--you come back (be sincere) With every question you put here (Here where there once was, and is still, We think, a living oracle, Whose answers you stand carping at) This time flung back unanswered flat,-- Beside, perhaps, as many more As those that drove you out before, Now added, where was little need. Questions impossible, indeed, To us who sat still, all and each Persuaded that our earth had speech, Of God's, writ down, no matter if In cursive type or hieroglyph,-- Which one fact freed us from the yoke Of guessing why He never spoke. You come back in no better plight Than when you left us,--am I right?