The eternal flame of laughter and desire

Breaks the long darkness with a little glance,

Till all the gloom is radiant in a dance

Of yellow hopefulness, reflecting fire

That dreams from Heaven's lamps as we aspire

Sadly toward their jubilance—Romance

Of faery glitter in the streets of chance—

Those beacon-trees that blossom from the mire

Within the fog of our despairing gloom;

In the glum alleys, down the haunted night

Through tunnelling of subterranean doom,

Among the grovelling shadows, kingly bright,

They bear their coronets of golden bloom

To front our anguish with their brave delight.