He rose, but Mary would not let him go: "Martha, when she came back from here, said only That she heard nothing. And have you no more For Mary now than you had then for Martha? Is Nothing, Lazarus, all you have for me? Was Nothing all you found where you have been? If that be so, what is there worse than that -- Or better -- if that be so? And why should you, With even our love, go the same dark road over?" "I could not answer that, if that were so," Said Lazarus, -- "not even if I were God. Why should He care whether I came or stayed, If that were so? Why should the Master weep -- For me, or for the world, -- or save Himself Longer for nothing? And if that were so, Why should a few years' more mortality Make Him a fugitive where flight were needless, Had He but held his peace and given his nod To an old Law that would be new as any? I cannot say the answer to all that; Though I may say that He is not afraid, And that it is not for the joy there is In serving an eternal Ignorance Of our futility that He is here. Is that what you and Martha mean by Nothing? Is that what you are fearing? If that be so, There are more weeds than lentils in your garden. And one whose weeds are laughing at his harvest May as well have no garden; for not there Shall he be gleaning the few bits and orts Of life that are to save him. For my part, I am again with you, here among shadows That will not always be so dark as this; Though now I see there's yet an evil in me That made me let you be afraid of me. No, I was not afraid -- not even of life. I thought I was . . . I must have time for this; And all the time there is will not be long. I cannot tell you what the Master saw This morning in my eyes. I do not know. I cannot yet say how far I have gone, Or why it is that I am here again, Or where the old road leads. I do not know. I know that when I did come back, I saw His eyes again among the trees and faces -- Only His eyes; and they looked into mine -- Long into mine -- long, long, as if He knew." End of Project Gutenberg's The Three Taverns, by Edwin Arlington Robinson