Yet was I blind, but stars began to sweep
In light across my being's wondrous deep;
Myself I found as of a distant clime,
Echo of olden as of future time.
From sadness, love and hopefulness created,
The growth of memory was but a flight,
And mid the dashing billows of delight,
Then too the deepest sorrow penetrated.--
The world in bloom around the hillock clings,--
The Prophet's words were changed to double wings;