"Not all the year, the vines their clusters keep: Now fruitful are, now leafy tears do weep. Sunlike, the pure are shadowed by a cloud; As sparks on water are the envious crowd: Those, by degrees, their former radiance shed; These are extinguished in a wat’ry bed. Fear not the dark, my friend, howe’er profound: Perchance therein life’s water may be found. Let not despair, though dark, thy soul dismay, For night is pregnant with the glorious day."