The Consolation of Philosophy

Then fled the night and darkness did me leave.

Mine eyes their wonted strength receive,

As when swift Corus spreads the stars with clouds

And the clear sky a veil of tempest shrouds

The sun doth lurk, the earth receiveth night.

Lacking the boon of starry light;

But if fierce Boreas, sent from Thrace, make way

For the restoring of the day,

Phoebus with fresh and sudden beams doth rise,

Striking with light our wondering eyes.