This is the day, which down the void abysm  
  At the Earth-born's spell yawns for Heaven's despotism  
  And Conquest is dragged captive through the deep:  
  Love, from its awful throne of patient power  
  In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour  
  Of dread endurance, from the slippery, steep,  
  And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs  
  And folds over the world its healing wings.
Demogorgon, Act IV, l. 554–561. - Prometheus Unbound (1818–1819; publ. 1820)























