XLIII.

I gazed, with unaccustomed eyes, on night, Whose blackness dazzled more than midday sun, It rather seem’d, some new intenser light, Through which immortal powers, far wandering, run: I gazed, and hurled my curses at the rage, That traced its will on such a reckless course; Methought, a golden form of light did cage My utterance’ portals, strengthening vision’s source; And, fool, it cried, look nearer, nor despair. I saw, ’twas, as the thunder-cloud, that burst Is glorious with the lightning, a child’s hair Within whose gold entwined sunbeams are nurst, No cradle else so sweet; it was the breath Whose loveliness of life scares dreary death.