Chapter 20 No.20

Sonnet

Though Night hath climbed her peak of highest noon,

And bitter blasts the screaming autumn whirl,

All night through archways of the bridgèd pearl

And portals of pure silver walks the moon.

Wake on, my soul, nor crouch to agony:

Turn cloud to light, and bitterness to joy,

And dross to gold with glorious alchemy,

Basing