No cloud obscures, no passing shadows rest
Upon that Fountain’s clear, unruffled breast,
Itself the very source of light confessed,
Though of the night.
Forth from this spring a sparkling Torrent flows;
Who shall the secret of its birth disclose?
And yet I know the source from whence it rose,
Though of the night.
I see from both a mighty River run,
Yet dare not say when first its course begun;