Even when exiled from the struggle, even when brother hates brother, love still shines in the depths of Bastille.

When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle

— by William Wordsworth

When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle Like a form sculptured on a monument Lay couched; on him or his dread bow unbent Some wild Bird oft might settle and beguile The rigid features of a transient smile, Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent, Slackening the pains of ruthless banishment From his loved home, and from heroic toil. And trust that spiritual Creatures round us move, Griefs to allay which Reason cannot heal; Yea, veriest reptiles have sufficed to prove To fettered wretchedness, that no Bastile Is deep enough to exclude the light of love, Though man for brother man has ceased to feel.