Still as the Old World rolls in light, shall ours in shadow turn, A beamless Chaos, cursed of God, through outer darkness borne?
With joy the thoughtless youth That grateful shadowing hailed; For grateful was the shade, While thro' the silver-lighted haze Guiding their way, appeared the beamless Sun.
The fitful alternations of the rain, When the chill wind, languid as with pain Of its own heavy moisture, here and there Drives through the gray and beamless atmosphere.
