"I look out at some early hour of the day, and see a fine, perfect rainbow, bright with promise, gloriously spanning the beclouded welkin of life. An hour afterwards I look again: half the arch is gone, and the rest is faded. Still later, the stern sky denies that it ever wore so benign a symbol of hope."

"In the morning I look out and see a fine, perfect rainbow, bright with promise. Yet it is broken and faded within an hour. Later still, the stern sky denies that it ever wore so benign a symbol of hope."
