Here there are no angels of despair. Arrayed in choirs, they sing only of joy. Performing for the sheer delight of being, Poised between the act of sight and seeing, Yet infinite, yet of this earth, they toy Scholastically with being here nor there, Eden's hosts, though none the worse for wear. Come down from that sweet hilltop, anguish fleeing, On those they light who for another care, Now filling with their ecstasy the air, Dear hints of bliss no evil can destroy.
