A blind old man from infancy, that once hath seen the sun,
Whom long experience of night hath darkened in his cradle recollections,
Until his brightest thought of noon is but a shade of black.
This then is thy charm, O beauty all pervading;
And this thy wondrous strength, O beauty, conqueror of all:
The outline of our shadowy best, the pure and comely creature,
That winneth on the conscience with a saddening admiration:
And some untutored thirst for God, the root of every pleasure,
Native to creatures, yea in ruin, and dating from the birthday of the soul.
For God sealeth up the sum, confirmed exemplar of proportions,