The Helmed Cherubim, And Sworded Seraphim, Are

And Out Of Good Still To Find Means Of Evil.

Such Sober Certainty Of Waking Bliss.

Virtue That Wavers Is Not Virtue.

How Sweetly Did They Float Upon The Wings Of Silence Through The Empty-vaulted Night, At Every Fall Smoothing The Raven Down Of Darkness Till It Smiled!

But Oh! As To Embrace Me She Inclin'd, I Wak'd, She Fled, And Day Brought Back My Night.