⁠He went as one that ever found and sought
⁠And bore in hand the lamplike spirit of thought
To illume with instance of its fire sublime
The dusk of many a cloudlike age and clime.
⁠No spirit in shape of light and darkness wrought,
⁠No faith, no fear, no dream, no rapture, nought
That blooms in wisdom, nought that burns in crime,
No virtue girt and armed and helmed with light,
No love more lovely than the snows are white,
⁠No serpent sleeping in some dead soul's tomb,
No song-bird singing from some live soul's height,
⁠But he might hear, interpret, or illume
⁠With sense invasive as the dawn of doom.