Wit a poor shield very well may be; But cunning you'll find is a worse spear. Shadow might grow mold and moss it's true; And yes the sun can drive away fear But beware the rub of exposure constant And value the solace of shade: Gnawed to the bone your nerves are taut And bathed in light your joys may all fade.
The shadow is as needed as the light
For there is no enjoying of sight
Without the knowing of the dark
There can be no succour for the weary heart.