On the first line of the page appeared the title of the verses he was trying to write: To E-- C--. --No God for Ireland! he cried. To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life! A wild angel had appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. We do not accept this, and we will not allow it.