Upon despair's black brink; and see one star
Bloom, like a lily with a heart of fire
Throbbing within it, slowly out of night.
Each syllable the petal of a flower,
A rose of music, welcome as the star,
The first the eve gives silvery utterance to;
Or as the firstling bud, the wildwood rose,
Dropped from the rosy lips of laughing Spring:—
"I have remembered. Think'st thou I have not?—
O son of Evrawc, thou who couldst not see,