And as I fixed upon the down-turned face
That pointed scrutiny with which we challenge
     The first-met stranger in the waning dusk
     I caught the sudden look of some dead master
Whom I had known, forgotten, half recalled
     Both one and many; in the brown baked features
     The eyes of a familiar compound ghost
Both intimate and unidentifiable.
     So I assumed a double part, and cried
     And heard another’s voice cry: ‘What! are you here?’

     And as I fixed upon the slight sound emerging
That furrowed brow with which we discern
     The child's cry (is it delight or distress)
      I heard a high tenor sing, I look from afar
And lo I see the Power of God coming
      To which a choir did reply, Tell us
      Art thou he who should come to reign
Both intimate and unidentifiable.
      A new song echoing all that had come before
      And a ruby light did pierce the veil: Spiders running pall-mall