Searching the skiey depths all night in vain,
The starry seer hath known this mystery—
That the shy orb, which over half the sky
Had baulked his chase and mocked his utmost pain,
Oft (haply while the daylight poured amain
Into the empty concave of the Night)
Has slipped into his glass, as clear to sight
As the one Tree that stars a grassy plain.
So is it known that some secretive Truth
Which Thought and Patience strove in vain to find,
Just when Despair and Doubt were swallowing all,
Hath dropped into the heart without a call,
Conspicuous as a Fire, and sweet as Youth,
An everlasting stronghold to the mind.