All the storms and fevers… all that’s sharp and severs… all the dreaming seers… in all their sacred fetters… all the fears with which we’re taken… in these silences forsaken… abandoned hopes, and all distraught… is from a secret glory wrought… all we’ve lost and fairly mourned… lives yet, within our hearts, adorned… by the light with which we sought… and found, the light… we there had brought.