Hours of a dim despondency were there,
Like clouds that take its colour from the rose, 10
Which, knowing not the darkness of the air,
But its own sadness knows.
Youth grew in strength—to bear a stronger chain;
In knowledge grew—to know itself a slave;
And broke its narrower shells again, again, 15
To feel a wider grave.
What woe into the startled spirit sank,
When first it knew the inaudible recall,—