Hail holy light, offspring of heav'n firstborn!
They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
Not to know me argues yourselves unknown.
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades High over-arch'd imbower.
Solitude is sometimes the best society.