XVII

Spirit of evil, heavily flying, turning, Dropping to earth, Caught to the light, with brown wings torn and burning, Whence was your birth?

Was there a cause that, ceaselessly turning, flying, Drew you from night? All that we know is this—the aimless dying, Killed by the light.

Evil the star that led you, spirit of evil, Out of your dark, Breeding desire that conquers us, man and devil— Passion's red spark.