Our triumph is the victory
Of Thought, the Mind’s high festival.
Ah, cold and bleak at times will be225
The mists of Doubt that round us fall;
And keen the wounds of him who wars
With Ignorance, the eyeless foe
That balks us with his girdling bars.
Our task is great, our labour slow;230
And Truth is oft a maddening gleam
That mocks the eye in mazy flight;