And light in the desolate soul.
II.
Thus Joy, in my singular vision,
Sat sobbing and gnashing his teeth;
While Gentleness scoff'd in derision,
And Hope pick'd the buds from his wreath.
Despair, her tight bodice unlacing,
With laughter seem'd ready to die;
And Hate, her companions embracing,
Won each with a smile or a sigh.