The gloomy entrance to a sunnier world.
It boots not when my being's scene is furled,
So thou canst aught like vanished bliss restore
I vainly call on thee, for Fate the more
Her bolts hurls down as she has ever hurled
And in my war with her. I've felt, and feel
Grief's path cut to my heart by misery's steel
But man's eternal energies can make
An atmosphere around him, and so take
Good out of evil, like the yellow bee
That sucks from flowers malignant, a sweet treasure —
O tyrant FateI thus shall I vanquish thee,
For out of suffering shall I gather pleasure.