YET I CAN never believe that you are lost to us, my king, though
our poverty is great, and deep our shame.
Your will works behind the veil of despair, and in your own time
opens the gate of the impossible.
You come, as unto your own house, into the unprepared hall, on
the unexpected day.
Dark ruins at your touch become like a bud nourishing unseen in
its bosom the fruition of fulfilment.
Therefore I still have hopenot that the wrecks will be mended,
but that a new world will arise.