And, lo! the shadow shook and cried a name, That grew a flame Above the world, and said, "Give heed! give heed! See how they bleed! My wounds! my wounds!--Was it for this I came?
"Where is the love for which I shed my blood? And where the good I preached and died for?--Lo! ye have denied And crucified Me here again, who swore me brotherhood!"
Then overhead the vault of night was rent: The firmament Winged thunder over of aerial craft; And Battle laughed Titanic laughter as its way it went.
The rose, that wrote its message on the noon's Bright manuscript, has turned her perfumed face Towards Fall, and waits, heart-heavy, for the moon's Pale flower to take her place.
With eyes distraught, and dark disheveled hair, The Season dons a tattered cloak of storm And waits with Night that, darkly, seems to share Her trouble and alarm.
It is the close of summer. In the sky The sunset lit a fire of drift and sat Watching the last Day, robed in empire, die Upon the burning ghat.
The first leaf crimsons and the last rose falls, And Night goes stalking on, her cloak of rain Dripping, and followed through her haunted halls By ail Death's phantom train.
The sorrow of the Earth and all that dies, And all that suffers, in her breast she bears; Outside the House of Life she stops and cries The burden of her cares.
Then on the window knocks with crooked hands, Her tree-like arms to Heaven wildly-hurled: Love hears her crying, "Who then understands?-- Has God forgot the world?"
Since Man first lifted up his eyes to hers And saw her vampire beauty, which is lust, All else is dust Within the compass of the universe.
With heart of Jael and with face of Ruth She sits upon the tomb of Time and quaffs Heart's blood and laughs At all Life calls most noble and the truth.
The fire of conquest and the wine of dreams Are in her veins; and in her eyes the lure Of things unsure, Urging the world forever to extremes.
Without her, Life would stagnate in a while.-- Her touch it is puts pleasure even in pain.-- So Life attain Her end, she cares not if the means be vile.
She knows no pity, mercy, or remorse.-- Hers is to build and then exterminate: To slay, create, And twixt the two maintain an equal course.
Ever since man was man a Fiend has stood Outside his House of Good,-- War, with his terrible toys, that win men's hearts To follow murderous arts.