Thus, when the lamp that lighted

The traveller at first goes out,

He feels awhile benighted,

And looks around in fear and doubt.

But soon, the prospect clearing,

By cloudless starlight on he treads,

And thinks no lamp so cheering

As that light which Heaven sheds.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): I 'd mourn the Hopes.

Virtue could see to do what virtue would

By her own radiant light, though sun and moon

Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self

Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,

Where with her best nurse Contemplation

She plumes her feathers and lets grow her wings,

That in the various bustle of resort

Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.

He that has light within his own clear breast

May sit i' th' centre and enjoy bright day;

But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts

Benighted walks under the midday sun.

John Milton (1608-1674): Comus. Line 373.