Imploring storms, her essence is the spur.

His cry to heaven is a cry to her

Those are her rules which bid him wash foul sins;

Those her revulsions from the skull that grins

For happiness, for lastingness, for light.

'Tis she who kindles in his haunting night

Daily she waves him, that his inner dream

May clasp amid the glooms a springing beam,

(Editor：problem)