If, but a moment, she's held by the air steeping in the still light, and decides it belongs not to the bells or the Hands of the wall or those to come -- but in hers.
If, but a moment, she sees what's for a thousand night's been sung, And yet, it rests not in the forms or firmament pitched upon the dark of covered Eyes -- but in hers.
If, but a moment, by her grace, she may make herself or more what she wills.