O Deep, a depth from thee,

O Fate, thy fixÈd calm,

O Sorrow, what to me

Thou givest not, thy balm;

That I might worthier show

A scorn of your controls,

And let Misfortune know

Iron chains make iron souls.

If chain’d we could but take

Contagion from the steel,

And wisdom’s mantle shake

Around us head to heel,

And chill the eyes and rest

No longer violent,

The steel, still more imprest,

Would banish discontent.

The strongest chains are burst

When we have done with care;

A joy lives in the worst,

A gladness in despair.

So when great clouds all night

Hold high debate of thunder

In awful tones that fright

The huddled cities under;

And roar their rage and move

About the breadths of space,

And sudden flashes prove

The madness in their face;

At length, when break of day

Shows heav’nly peace newborn,

They muttering melt away

Before the might of morn.