Pardon this heart that
       gloomily bounced,
That it may in this life's long
        night
Restored somehow be to
        household of peace,
Which, in grave or before,
Can give relief to owner's
                pain:
   >It is concerned tears that
           aflame flow,
   >Which render fatal fears
           so nearly real.

                    i.
From when reason first
     stroke the race on Solon's
              tongue,
Strong stood and made its
      roars heard,
To the ears of that trouble-
      gotten Hellenic year,
Whose winter of rage
       brought drought to
            intellect,
Convenience wounds it at
         chance in every age:
   >If 'winning' we see
          when guns roar,
   >Then dark be right, we to
          all beauty blind!

                      ii.