Satan

As the least strong thing, The frailest, the most fond, an insect on the wind, Which shall prevail by love, by ignorance, by lack Of all that Man most trusteth to secure his back, To arm his hand with might. What Thy Son dreamed of Man Will I work out anew as some poor cateran, The weakest of the Earth, with only beauty's power And Thy good grace to aid, the creature of an hour Too fugitive for fight, too frail even far to fly, And at the hour's end, Lord, to close my wings and die. Such were the new redemption.