A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe

While the cock with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin; And to the stack, or the barn door, Stoutly struts his dames before; Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn, Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn

Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.

Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.

Is it true, O Christ in heaven, that the highest suffer the most?
That the strongest wander furthest and most hopelessly are lost?
That the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain?
That the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain?

Our torments also may in length of time
Become our Elements.