O Lucifer, Son of the Morning!

Oh fallen star! a darkened light, A glory hurtled from its car, Self-blasted from the holy height: Oh fallen star!

Fallen beyond earth’s utmost bar, Beyond return, beyond far sight Of outmost glimmering nebular.

Now blackness, which once walked in white; Now death, whose life once glowed afar; Oh son of dawn that loved the night, Oh fallen star!

Alas, alas! for the self-destroyed Vanish as images from a glass, Sink down and die down by hope unbuoyed:— Alas, alas!

Who shall stay their ruinous mass? Besotted, reckless, possessed, decoyed, They hurry to the dolorous pass.

Saints fall a-weeping who would have joyed, Sore they weep for a glory that was, For a fulness emptied into the void, Alas, alas!

As froth on the face of the deep, As foam on the crest of the sea, As dreams at the waking of sleep, As gourd of a day and a night, As harvest that no man shall reap, As vintage that never shall be, Is hope if it cling not aright, O my God, unto Thee.

“Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.”

In tempest and storm blackness of darkness for ever, A fire unextinguished, a worm’s indestructible swarm; Where no hope shall ever be more, and love shall be never, In tempest and storm; Where the form of all things is fashionless, void of all form; Where from death that severeth all, the soul cannot sever In tempest and storm.

Toll, bell, toll. For hope is flying Sighing from the earthbound soul: Life is sighing, life is dying: Toll, bell, toll.

Gropes in its own grave the mole Wedding darkness, undeserving, Tending to no different goal.

Self-slain soul, in vain thy sighing: Self-slain, who should make thee whole? Vain the clamour of thy crying: Toll, bell, toll.