As I thought of these things, I drew aside the curtains and looked
out into the darkness, and it seemed to my troubled fancy that all
those little points of light filling the sky were the furnaces
of innumerable divine alchemists, who labour continually, turning
lead into gold, weariness into ecstasy, bodies into souls,
the darkness into God; and at their perfect labour my mortality
grew heavy, and I cried out, as so many dreamers and men of letters
in our age have cried, for the birth of that elaborate spiritual
beauty which could alone uplift souls weighted with so many dreams.
William Butler Yeats,Rosa Alchemica
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