Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.